


Dreams

by BelieveMePlease



Series: everybody else is doing it, so why can't we? [2]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelieveMePlease/pseuds/BelieveMePlease
Summary: The offer is very tempting. George hasn't seen Owen since the end of the four nations tournament and he wants nothing more than to spend even a short amount of time with him. That said, he's not out to any member of his family yet, and he knows that asking permission for a solo trip back to their old home is going to raise more than a few questions.~~~~~Follows on from Linger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title/inspiration from Dreams by The Cranberries

"Hey," George smiles when he hears Owen's voice. It's slightly muffled from the disturbed phone line and he sounds a little tired, but after four days of no communication other than a few texts during Owen's revision breaks it's perfect.

"Hi, how're you doing?" George sinks down into his pillows, eyes closing as he absorbs the cushiony comfort, settling in for the long awaited conversation. "I miss you, by the way." He adds it on quick, sensing Owen about to answer. It's normally the very first thing he says after a greeting, always meaning it whole heartedly, but this time it had almost slipped his mind that he even felt that way. They're definitely getting a little too used to being apart, to talking to each other less and less.

George wishes he could see the smile that inevitably accompanies Owen's reply, but he supposes inferring it will suffice, "I miss you too. And I'm doing okay, exams are wiping me out a bit, but," Owen breaks off with a perfectly timed yawn, "I'm alright."

"You sure about that?" George laughs, but reluctantly gears up to offer Owen the pragmatic advice he knows he should, "Seriously, though, you should go to sleep if you're tired. Don't you have an exam tomorrow?"

"Yeah, maths tomorrow," Owen sighs, George almost feels bad for reminding him, "But I just finished cramming for three hours, so I'm pretty sure I'm gonna fail it whether I go to sleep or talk to you all night and I think I'd rather enjoy the rest of my night."

"You're not gonna fail and you know it," George rolls his eyes, "Stop pretending you're not smart, it makes people like me feel even more stupid than we are."

"Oh stop it, you're not stupid," Owen snorts, but cuts off George's grumbling response before he has enough of a chance to start, "Anyway, I actually kind of wanted to talk to you about something in particular."

"Oh so that's why I finally get a phone call?" George teases lightly, "What could be so important that I get more than a three word text?"

"I've been busy, you know that!" George laughs at Owen's exasperation, but doesn't continue the banter. Whatever Owen wants to talk about must be at least slightly serious if Owen doesn't feel he can text it.

"I only have maths tomorrow and chemistry on Thursday and then I'm done for half term and I was thinking that maybe you could come down and stay? Just for a few days so my mum can't get mad at me for not revising enough, but, what do you think?"

The offer is very tempting. George hasn't seen Owen since the end of the four nations tournament and he wants nothing more than to spend even a short amount of time with him. That said, he's not out to any member of his family yet, and he knows that asking permission for a solo trip back to their old home is going to raise more than a few questions. George is suddenly cursing himself for not making a point of keeping more friends and ties down there.

"George?" Owen asks and George can hear the slight nervousness that has crept into his voice. Clearly he's let the silence drag on too long.

"Sorry, I was just," George pauses, not sure where to start, "Does your family know about us, then?"

There's another pause, just a little too long to be a normal break in conversation. George shifts uncomfortably, picturing the sad mix of confusion and disappointment on Owen's face so well that he might as well be there to see it. That probably wasn't the best place to start.

"No?" Owen speaks after an exaggerated moment. He sounds like he's picking his words more carefully than he should have to. George feels guilty already. "They know I have a boyfriend and that it's a long distance thing, but I haven't told them it's you specifically, no. Although I didn't really leave it long after the tournament to tell them and I do think my mum might've heard me call you Georgie on the phone, so they might well have figured it out, I dunno."

"You can tell them if you want to," George insists. It's not exactly the order he imagined, Owen's parents knowing about his sexuality before his own do, but Owen having to keep secrets from his family for him, skirting around any questions about him, is not something George wants at all.

"Pretty sure I'm gonna have to if you do come down and visit," Owen laughs freely around the statement and George knows that he must feel relieved, the tension releasing from the conversation enough that George can smile again, anxiety ebbing away.

"I would really love to," George assures, "Come visit you, that is. It's just that my parents don't even know that I'm gay yet,  is all I'm worried about."

"Do they need to know?" Owen questions, "For you to come here, I mean. You did used to live here, after all, it's plausible, isn't it?"

"I'm hardly a social butterfly, Owen," George snorts, "I barely talk to my friends up here let alone anyone back home. It would definitely raise a few questions."

"So they wouldn't believe that you're coming to see me as a friend? They obviously know we were always really close, and I'm assuming you told them we roomed together during the four nations? Your dad didn't seem to think it was weird when I wanted to talk to you after the last game when you were upset." Owen is right, and maybe they would just about believe that George wanted to go and see Owen as a friend; George just isn't sure he wants them to believe that Owen is nothing more than a friend.

"You're right, I did tell them, and I guess I do talk about you a bit. Might be a bit of stretch, it not seeming at all weird that we're such good friends that I would want to travel all that way just to stay at yours for a few days, but no, they probably wouldn't skip straight to assuming that I'm gay and you're my boyfriend. I just -I guess I kind of don't want them to think you're anything less than that. Like, I don't want to lie about you and lie about what we are."

"Aw, Georgie," Owen coos and George blushes. He knows he's putting himself out there a lot, opening himself up to vulnerability, but he also knows how important it is that they communicate properly now. Their long winded blunder of getting together over the four nations had taught him well enough.

"I know, sap, shut up," George retaliates, but softens once again, "I mean it, though. I do really want to come down and I do want my parents to know about us, I'm just a bit scared of the whole 'coming out' process. My mum will probably be fine, I just don't know how my dad will take it. I'm worried he'll freak out about it getting in the way of my career. It's not like anyone in rugby has ever come out before, except Nigel Owens, but even then he's a ref not a player."

"Chances are he'll be fine," Owen soothes, "I had the same thoughts with mine, but he was cool with it, just warned me to be careful with who in the sport I tell about it while I'm still working up the ladder. If your parents seem chill with gay people in general then it'll probably be fine. Might even help you that you've got _that_ to come out as."

"What do you mean?" George furrows his eyebrows. George is pretty certain that coming out as gay is not generally something that is thought of as helping someone's relationship with their parents. Although, Owen is the one with the experience in that area.

"Well, can you imagine what it was like trying to explain _my_ sexuality to my mum and dad? 'No labels' and all that jazz. They pretty much just assume I'm bi and I let them think that just cause I think it kind of helps them understand it at least a little bit better, but it sort of irks me because that's not what I am. It'll help, that you have something to call it, something that you identify with and that they understand the concept of." Owen yawns once again and George glances at the clock next to his bed. It's not far off ten and he knows his mum will be up soon telling him to get off the phone and go to bed; he should probably let Owen go so he gets enough sleep before his exam. As it is, though, he doesn't feel as if they can be done here.

"That must've sucked," George sighs sympathetically.

"Nah it wasn't too bad," Owen really is starting to sound tired now, "They're completely cool with it which I guess is what matters the most. It did take a lot of building up for me to actually tell them, though, so I get what you're going through. I can give you tips on how best to practice in the mirror if you want."

"I have been thinking about telling Joe for a while, to be honest," George confesses, "I know he'll definitely understand and be cool with it so I thought that maybe he'd be a good place to start."

"Yeah I think that's a great idea," Owen yawns again and George knows for sure it's a means to an end this time. He frowns at the thought of letting Owen go again, it has been so good just hear his voice for a little while. "Listen, babe, I'm actually really shattered and, despite what I say, I'm kind of not okay with completely fucking up my exam tomorrow."

"No, of course," George affirms, "You should go to sleep, yeah? We can talk again when you don't have an exam looming the next day."

"I'll call you tomorrow evening? Chemistry isn't until Thursday, so I should have a bit more time."

George pauses. If he's going to do this, if he's going to get to visit Owen in half term next week, he should definitely do it sooner rather than later.

"G?" Owen probes just as George has decided for certain.

"I'm going to tell Joe after school tomorrow," George states, that part is assured, "And, if it goes as well as it should then I'll tell my mum and dad in the evening. I really want to come and see you."

"Yeah?" Owen sounds like he can barely keep his eyes open at the other end of the phone. It makes George's heart swell that he would keep himself awake the night before a crucial exam just to support him. "Only if you're sure, though. Don't do it because you think you have to, we can always wait until summer to see each other."

"I definitely want to," George assures, "Like I said, I don't want to hide you or lie about you and I don't want you to have to do that for me either. I want you to be able to tell your parents about us and I want to see them again, as your boyfriend this time."

"Mm," Owen mumbles and George laughs, bright and loud.

"Go to sleep. I'll text you tomorrow after I've done it and you can call whenever after that, okay?"

"Okay, G," Owen mutters, sounding as though his face is already squished up into his pillow.

"Good luck with maths tomorrow, I'm sure you'll smash it. Goodnight."

"Night."

~~~~~

It's ten past five by the time George finds himself outside Joe's bedroom. When he'd gotten home from school, sweating in his blazer from the mid-May heat, he'd done nothing but kill time, put it off. If he hadn't heard his mum come in half way through his shower he would have milled about under the spray for probably double the time; he just didn't want to get told off for draining the hot water tank. Once he's out and changed into comfier clothes, though, there's not much more George can do to delay, just has to get it over with -wants to get it over with.

He taps on the door in front of him. He's been stood staring at the wooden frame for a full minute just gearing up the courage to do that. It'll be okay, he keeps telling himself, he's going to understand.

"Joe?" George pushes the door open slightly and peeks his head round.

"What?" Joe is hunched over, sat on his bed with a couple of textbooks sprawled open in front of him. It's probably not the best time to disturb him, in the middle of revision only a couple of weeks before the start of his AS exams, but George had promised himself that he would do this today and he's not going to let himself back out now.

"I need to talk to you about something," George hopes that sounding vague won't work against him, but he needs to build up to it.

"Oh," Joe looks up, brow furrowing. He looks on the edge of worried and George is suddenly hit with the realisation that, although he and his older brother are close and although they chat every day, if Joe had come to him with an ominous 'we need to talk' he would definitely be thinking that something was wrong. Maybe it wasn't the smartest way to start things off. Joe shoves his books aside in a motion to gesture George over, "Is everything okay?"

"I'm okay, I just want -I need to tell you something," George focuses on keeping his breath steady. He's only done this once, only said the words once and it had been a much easier task when he was cuddled up against Owen's chest with the knowledge that the person he was telling was in exactly the same boat as him.

"Okay," Joe looks even more confused by now, but at least the trim of worry seems to be falling away, "What's up?"

George takes  a deep breath. It'll be okay, he'll understand.

"I'm gay."

It's silent for just a second longer than George would want it to be. Joe looks a picture of what can only be described as blank and George trembles slightly, hands winding together in his lap to try and hide the shaking. It's just as George's mouth begins to form around a yet unconsidered choice of words that his brother's expression falls into one of relief. A smile even breaks through. George can't stop his own lips from quirking up in response. It is okay.

"G, mate," Joe's smile widens, he even laughs disbelievingly, reaching out to cover George's shaking hands, "I know that, mate. I know, don't worry."

"You know?" George had been relatively positive that Joe would be fine with his sexuality. He hadn't expected him to make the sweeping statement that he had known all along. Still, he supposes he can make the best of a situation that only seems to be rolling in his favour, laugh and smile along as relief begins to flood his previously too tight chest. "How do you know? I didn't think I was much of the stereotype."

"No you're not, but you fancied the fuck out of that guy on the first team at St George's. Christ, if he so much as looked at you, you started drooling. It was obvious." Joe cackles at the embarrassed look spreading over George's features.

"I did not!" George flushes, swiping a back hand at Joe's arm, only making him laugh harder. He drops his face into his palms in embarrassment, peeking out from between his fingers. "Oh God, was it really that obvious?"

Joe takes pity on him and manages to calm his giggles, "Nah, I suppose you were fine. Most of the guys your age looked up to him like that -to be fair he was fit as fuck and a fucking good player too. But I could tell you didn't just admire him," Joe pauses and shrugs, "Cause you're my brother, y'know."

George deadpans before he proceeds to fake gag, "Shut up you absolute cliché, what is it really?"

Joe pauses, takes his hand away from George's in order to fiddle with his own fingers in his lap. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

It's not what George is expecting and it takes him aback enough for his eyebrows to shoot up, shoulders to jolt. He doesn't mind Joe knowing, wants his family to know about Owen, even, but how on earth Joe could've guessed it, George hasn't a clue.

"Yeah, why?" George answers tentatively, draws the words out slowly.

"I've heard you on the phone to him a couple times, because I'm nosy and I eavesdrop," George smiles at the lightness of a conversation that could've been so tense and serious, "And you talk to him like he's a mate, or just one of the lads, but then you say shit like you miss him and I swear I've heard you call him babe!" George smiles around a blush and Joe shrugs again, "I already had my suspicions with the way you look at guys sometimes, like that guy on the first team back home, that and the fact you never seem to have any interest in any girls. I guess I just started putting pieces together."

"Do you think mum and dad know, then?" George is starting to become hyper aware of just how obvious he may have been. If both Owen and Joe could figure things out then it can't have been too hard for his parents to see as well.

"No I wouldn't've thought so," Joe reassures, "I don't think it's the first thing you assume. Not about your kid at least, and not when you're of mum and dad's generation. Why? Are you thinking about telling them?"

"I want to, yeah," George doesn't like the way he starts feeling anxious all over again, reminded that, unfortunately, Joe isn't the only person he needs to tell and that he faces a potentially much more difficult barrier all over again. "No offense, but you were kind of just the practice run before I try and tell them later. That and I was sort of hoping that you'd-"

"Hold your hand?" Joe interjects with a smirk. George grins back already feeling better again. "Yeah I can be there. You want to tell them today then?"

"Yep, after dinner. Need to get it over and done with, so I might as well," George sighs and swivels himself round, shuffling back towards Joe's headboard so he can slouch down. Joe slumps next to him and George feels comfortable. He likes it. "I want to go and visit my boyfriend in half term and I guess I sort of have to tell them if I'm going to convince them to let me go."

"Go and visit? It is long distance?" George nods, "I did wonder with the copious amounts of sappy 'I miss you, babe's."

George frowns at Joe's awful impression of him and gives him a whack on the shoulder, "I do not sound like that and I hardly ever call him babe!" He admonishes, "But yes it is long distance. Which sucks, by the way, he's lucky I like him as much as I do otherwise I definitely couldn't hack it."

"How do _you_ end up in a long distance relationship?" Joe ponders out loud before actually turning his head towards George in question, "You don't even talk to people you know here let alone people from elsewhere. How did you even meet him?"

It's not like George isn't going to tell his whole family about Owen later that night, so he shrugs. He might as well humour Joe, let him try and put the pieces together himself. "I know him from St George's. Well, just from living in Harpenden really -he was in the year above me."

"Jesus, how long have you been together?" Joe looks at him stunned and George struggles to hide a smirk. He's honestly a bit shocked Joe didn't get it from that straight away. "Since before we moved?"

"No!" George laughs. Surely Joe will get it now, "Since the four nations, he was on the squad too. Guess we finally got our shit together-"

"And banged?" Joe cuts in, wiggles his eyebrows. George blushes and hits him again; Joe brushes him off and furrows in thought once again. "I didn't know there were any other guys from St George's on the squad apart from you and Owen."

George stares at him for a moment. He really hadn't expected it to be that difficult to figure out. "Seriously? How dense are you, mate?"

Joe still looks dumbfounded for a moment, staring at George with his brow creased in confusion. It's all George can do not to start cackling when he watches realisation finally begin to dawn on his brother's face. "Oh!" George really does laugh at that, "Oh right! Yeah, Owen, of course. He's... cute?"

"Don't even try, mate!" George pulls a face and only laughs harder as Joe can do nothing but nod and fall into a small awkwardness of his own. George takes pity on him and stills his laughter slowly. When he glances over at the clock, it's already six and their mum will definitely be calling them for dinner soon and George knows he has to tell them straight after that or else he doesn't know when he will. Quickly, he searches for any last pieces of advice he can get from Joe. "Do you think mum and dad will be okay with it?"

Joe pauses and thinks for a moment, "They seem all good with this kind of thing generally, so I don't think they'll mind. Also, they know Owen already and I'm pretty sure they like him a lot -mum was very happy when you said he was your roommate for the tour, I know that."

George smiles, he can't help himself from looking a bit dopey, "Yeah well I'm glad someone was; I wonder what Gareth would say if he knew what he'd really done by putting the captain with the youngest. I doubt he'd be very impressed."

"Okay," Joe puts his hands up in a motion to stop George and makes a face probably intended to portray some sort of disgust although it's badly warped by the teasing smile he's unable to hide, "I may joke about it, but I don't actually need to know the ins and outs of your sex life. No pun intended."

"Gross, no I didn't mean that," George fumbles and blushes and blushes at the implication, "We obviously didn't do _that_ , idiot."

"What do you mean _gross_?" Joe practically howls with laughter, "Oh Georgie, you've gone and got yourself a legal boyfriend, you better get with the program and quick. What do you think he's gonna want to do next week?"

"You just said you didn't want to know!" George cries indignantly, eminently embarrassed by this point, "He's not going to want to do that yet, he's not like that."

"George, he's a sixteen year old boy of course he's like that," Joe admonishes, but it's light hearted and still masked by a teasing smirk. "I'm surprised you're not too. Guess you are still our little baby." 

Honestly, George isn't quite so sure that Joe is wrong and it draws up a slight panic. Maybe it's just another injudicious stereotype, or maybe Owen really does have more sexually driven motives than George had thought. He had barely even thought about it until now, beyond happy with the kisses they'd shared, not feeling the need for anything more. But Owen is older, is _legal_ as Joe put it, and perhaps sex is exactly what he wants. George isn't so sure he's ready for that just yet.

"Do you really think-?" It's at that point that their mum decides to call them for dinner and George supposes that's the end of Joe's insight on the matter. They make their way off the bed, move to head out the room and down the stairs together when Joe catches his arm.

"After dinner, yeah?" He looks like he's searching George's face for any last wavering of doubt, smiles encouragingly when he finds none. No, George is certain about this. "I'll stay with you, okay? I'm sure it's gonna be fine."

"Thanks Joe," George says sincerely, voice only slightly weak. When Joe pulls him into a hug, he appreciates it. It's not a gesture of affection they give each other often, but George is sure he needs it this time, is sure Joe knows this. He tucks his face sideways against the front of his brother's shoulder, squeezes back as good as he's getting and only regretfully pulls away when they're called for again, a touch more agitation in their mum's tone this time.

George is so assured as he heads down the stairs, relaxes even more as he and Joe banter with Jacob when they enter the kitchen, teaming up against their little brother to shove him around until their dad quips at them to settle down. There's more tension in his voice than there might usually have been, but more than anything he just seems tired -must have been a tougher day than usual, George concludes.

Only, as dinner wears on, George starts to pick up on the aggravated environment more, and it has his anxiety spiking up all over again. Mike is definitely not in the best of moods; short with his answers, generally gruff and quiet. It's a far cry from his usual demeanour at family dinners, the one who normally treasures them the most seeming as though he doesn't even want to be there. George is seriously starting to second guess his decision to come clean about everything tonight.

He plans to make a beeline for the door as soon as they're done cleaning up, maybe give his parents some more time to wind down for the night before he talks to them. It's pure misfortune that he doesn't get the chance to mention this to Joe. He catches George by the wrist when he moves to leave once he's finished with the dishwasher, cocks his head towards their parents with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't you want to-?" Joe stops short, thankfully not revealing anything further. George barely gets the chance to start formulating his excuse to bail before their mum is cutting in, curious.

"Don't you want to what?" She asks with a small, expectant smile, "What are you two up to now?"

There's a beat of silence, George reluctant to answer and Joe not knowing whether it's his place. He squeezes George's wrist in his grip, the only non-verbal mode of comfort he can give right now. George is thankful for it, uses it as grounding to find his breath, his words.

"I need to talk to you about something," It's vague, just how it had been with Joe, and it probably sets a few alarm bells off in the constant worry encased in the parental mind but George doesn't really know any other ways to begin something like this.

"Okay," He was right, their mum does sound worried and he feels guilty for it instantly, "Is everything alright?"

Their dad isn't saying anything, but when George spares him a glance he is staring at his two sons with what appears to be concern, George knows  he needs to rectify this quickly.

"I'm fine," He assures, keeping himself steady, making the reassurance as clear and convincing as he can, "It's just -something important."

George doesn't think he's making things all that much better, but he's not quite figured out just how he's going to tackle things yet, so he figures just pushing through is what's going to work best. Might as well wing it. He moves back to the now cleared table, Joe following without a word and taking a seat next to George.

"Jacob why don't you head off for now and get some of your homework done," Sally-Anne slots back into her seat next to Mike and looks over at her youngest, raising her eyebrow in warning when he looks as though he might argue back. George isn't so sure he wants him to go, though. He wants everyone to know, he doesn't want to hide Owen away from anyone and George knows he definitely wouldn't have batted an eyelash to this kind of confession even at Jacob's age. Maybe Joe's unblinking support and understanding has given him too high an expectation of their younger brother, but there's still no point in keeping him in the dark.

"No it's okay," George interrupts Jacob's huff at the last moment, catching his attention back just as he's moving to leave the room. "Sit down, mate, you might as well hear it too."

Their brother seems to appreciate this, sits back down with a satisfied smile to himself and rests his chin in his palm, stares expectantly at George. In fact, looking around at everyone, they're all staring at him the same way and it makes George's heart start to thud at the weight of reality. His mum looks worried, but isn't prompting him, almost as if she knows it's something he needs to say in his own time. How is it that mums always know? His dad still holds a strange mixture of concern and agitation in his expression, probably just desperate to go and fall asleep on the sofa with a half-drunk mug of tea in hand. George finds he is frightened of what this mood might do to Mike's reaction, if it might be amplified to its worst extreme.

The only one who isn't expectant, the only one not even looking at him, is Joe. He seems to be scouting out their parents' expectations in the same way George is. It's only when George actually looks over to him for support that Joe turns his head and flashes a smile, places his hand on George's knee under the table and gives it a pat. That's when everything feels calm. Maybe it's the calm before the storm, George doesn't know, but his heart slows enough, the lump in his throat loosens enough for him to turn back to his family and say:

"I'm gay."

It stays quiet for just long enough that George panics. He reaches blindly for Joe's hand that has fallen from his knee and squeezes it tight, arms dangling between their chairs.

"I knew it," George turns to stare at his little brother, the cheeky bastard has a smirk plastered all over his face, reading nothing into the seriousness of what's just been said. Honestly, George sort of loves him for that. Joe snorts next to him, stretches his other arm out across to where Jacob is sat and high fives him. At least that's now two people who have his back.

"Georgie," Their mum finally speaks drawing the attention back to her. George swallows. "You know- you know that's okay, don't you?"

She looks almost choked up, as though she could tell just how worried George had been about telling them, or maybe she's just proud of the fact he actually did. George knows the feeling, his whole chest feeling like it's welling with a relieved pride in himself. Although there is still one person left to speak. George still nods precariously at his mum, but his eyes drift to where his dad is sat merely looking at him thoughtfully.

It takes a few more moments, dragging, elongated moments that have George practically hiccupping with the need to say something more, to justify himself. There's nothing to justify, though, nothing more he can say about it; it is what it is and it's out there now. But Mike does eventually break the quiet, everyone's focus now turned away from George and onto him -George hadn't realised quite how heavy a weight it had felt until it was gone.

"Come here," George is a little shocked to see Mike turn to the side in his chair, arms stretching open to beckon George over. He drops Joe's hand in a heartbeat, practically races around to the other side of the table to slot himself into his father's arms. It's an awkward angle, bending over to be embraced by someone seated, but it's the perfect comfort in this moment. "You were most worried about telling me, weren't you?"

George nods against Mike's shoulder. He can't deny the fears he had been projecting to Owen the night before, to Joe just hours ago. Maybe deep down he'd been near certain that his dad wouldn't hold any prejudice towards him, but his deep routed desire for George to succeed in the macho, _straight_ , world he is pursuing made it entirely possible that his reaction would be less than positive.

"You have nothing to worry about, okay?" George can only nod again, not trusting his voice not to crack. Mike rubs his back gently and George remembers the way he'd comforted him about Owen, unknowingly that is, only a few months prior. The parameters of his relationship with his dad are definitely changing because of all this, George is just glad it's heading north and not south. "Maybe don't tell any coaches right away, alright? Whether you make it in the U18 tryouts or you're back with sixteens next season you're going to have a new coach with Gareth leaving and it might be best not to risk it. But thank you for telling us, mate, I know it must've been hard. We support you a hundred percent, okay?"

His mum nods at the last statement and moves to rub a hand over George's back as well. He pulls back from his dad to turn and give her a brief hug too. George can't help feeling so amazingly loved.

"Yeah Andy said something similar apparently. About being weary of telling coaches to begin with." George allows a small smile to himself. He figures he's found his perfect opportunity.

"Andy?" Mike looks confused, not recognising the name as anyone significant in George's life for him to have entrusted with knowledge of his sexuality. George supposes it's hardly surprising that he wouldn't make the link to Owen's dad right away, it has been a couple of years after all.

"When Owen told his parents about him," George says with a small shrug, "Andy said to be weary."

It falls quiet again. Joe is smirking like a kitsune.

"Owen's gay too?" Jacob is the one to interject, loud and surprised. George resists the urge to face-palm at his youthful inability to read the room's tension. "Christ, is it just one big shag fest when you play for England? Anything you want to confess, Joe?"

"Jakey!" Their mum sounds slightly horrified, at the insinuation or the choice of language. Or both. Joe is cackling wildly, even George lets out a snigger around his blush.

"He's not gay, he's just not straight either," George finally manages, grinning over at where Joe is still giggling to himself. "And as far as I'm aware it's just the two of us. Although that is pretty improbable I suppose."

No one seems to know what to say to that. George figures he can understand why, it doesn't quite feel right to be commenting on someone's sexuality without their presence. He takes the in to keep talking.

"I actually wanted to ask if I could go and visit him in half term?" George averts his eyes, earlier nerves beginning to creep up on him again. They do like Owen, he knows that, but what they'd think of him as a boyfriend when they've only just found out that their son would even want a _boy_ friend, George can't be so sure. "It's actually sort of why I'm telling you this now because he's, you know, kind of my- we're kind of seeing each other."

Maybe if he doesn't say the actual word it'll soften the blow a little bit.

"Oh," His mum does sound genuinely surprised, although George can't quite figure out if there's anything else beneath that. "Since- for how long?"

"Well mum," Joe leans forward before George can answer, the smirk that doesn't seem to have left his face for the last five minutes broadening impossibly further. "Remember how glad you were that George had a familiar friend when he told us who his roommate for the four nations was?"

"Shut _up_!" George insists before he can go any further. Joe and Jacob both sink into fits of laughter when they see the undignified red plastering their brother's cheeks. Even their dad has a small smile on his face, likely remembering the way Owen had swooped in to comfort George after the last game, remembering how little he had thought of it at the time. "Since the _end_ of the four nations. Literally after the last game."

George isn't sure why he feels the need to try and justify things to the degree he does, or why he's finding this so hard. But relationships had never been on his cards before, literally one of the last things on his mind, and he'd never had to have this kind of conversation with his family before. It's strange to say the least.

"Are you sure you'd be alright going down there on your own?" She both sounds and looks weary and is glancing over at Mike for his input, but George is already classing the lack of a blatant 'no' as a victory.

"It would just be the train journey and the walk on my own, which is literally just  to our old house anyway. I think I'll be fine, yeah." George is smiling, already pulling his phone out to send Owen a text denoting their triumph. A text comes back right away with congratulations, another quickly following that says Owen's parents are happy about the news and cool with him visiting. "It's okay, right, dad?"

Mike rolls his eyes probably trying to seem as nonchalant as possible about his son's love life, but he doesn't hide the soft smile on his face, "As long as you don't come back a Wigan fan, Georgie, you can do what you like."

"You're sure Andy and Colleen are okay with it?" His mum ignores his dad's more blasé approach. "Doesn't Owen have exams?"

"Owen says they're cool with it. It's just for a few days at the very start of half term anyway and he can still revise when I'm there." George's phone starts buzzing violently indicating the incoming call, and he turns to his mum pleadingly, "Please can I go?"

She sighs, still not looking entirely convinced. George vows to himself to spend the whole of the next three days appealing her to the idea. Finally, although her smile seems reluctant, she nods. George grins spectacularly in victory and answers the phone quickly before it rings off.

"Hey," He's not out the room, only heading away, but he can't help the way his voice softens. It's almost laughable that just a few months ago he would have been ribbing any of his mates to shit if he'd heard them talk this way.

"Boyfriend!" Joe sing-songs loudly from behind him. George doesn't turn around, doesn't need to see that endless smirk yet again, only has to resist the urge to flip him off as he flees the room.

"Was that Joe?" Owen asks around a stifled laugh.

George huffs, "He's being an annoying dick," He scuttles up the stairs quickly and makes his way into his bedroom, flopping down in his desk chair. "But he's been really supportive too, so I guess I have to let him take the piss a little bit."

"I thought he'd probably take it well," Owen affirms, "How were your parents?"

"Even better than I expected, although they did sound surprised. Joe and Jacob both said they already knew it, though," George sounds entirely disgruntled that his coming out had been hindered by such a cliché.

Owen laughs, "I told you! It was that James guy you fancied, it gave it all away." George grumbles, but doesn't argue it. "It's not an easy thing to do, hiding your sexuality. Not successfully at least. My mum didn't even wait for me to come out, I was stood in the kitchen one day and she came in and just straight up asked me if I liked boys."

"Straight up," George sniggers at the irony, is sure from the agitated noise he makes that Owen would be leaning over to shove him if he was he there with him. The pang that he isn't is so sharp it hurts. There's an easy comfort for that, though, "I can't wait to see you this weekend."

"Me neither," Owen sighs contently down the line, "My mum is proper excited to see you again too. She looked like she was going to cry with joy when I told her that you're my mystery boyfriend."

"It was all a bit quick with mine," George confesses solemnly, although his heart is swelling at the thought of him being so accepted by Owen's family, "Mum's a bit sceptical about me coming down, although I did manage to get her to say yes. Dad's cool with anything as long as you don't try and convert me into a Wigan fan."

"Aw, G," Owen teases, "You know we're never gonna stop trying to do that. Until we succeed, of course."

"Never gonna happen," George sings, "We're the ones on track to win this year, don't you know?"

"We'll see about that," Owen mocks, but it's weak and he knows it. St Helen's really are on track for the Challenge Cup win, they only have a couple of months to wait and see for sure.

"Anyway," George lifts the screen of his laptop on the desk in front of him, wipes away the worst of the fingerprints with his sleeve. That's the last time he lets Jacob borrow it. "I was gonna look at train tickets now. You okay with me coming down Friday night? A Saturday morning ticket might be quite expensive."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking too," George waits impatiently for the Northern Rail website to load, "And maybe go back Monday? I'd have you way longer if I could, but I know mum will get aggy about my exams if you stay too long."

"No, I get it, you need to revise and stuff," George holds the phone between his ear and shoulder as he fills out his desired times for the return ticket. It doesn't come back entirely too expensive, so he simply leaves it be for the time being, making a mental note to nab his dad's debit card to book it later. He makes his way over to his bed and lets himself fall down atop the covers. "How's the rest of your day been, then? How was maths?"

"Shit," Owen answers curtly, although he doesn't sound too miffed or worried over it, so George decides it must've been at least slightly better than he's making it out. "Been doing Chemistry revision since then. Covalent lattices, Georgie, they do not make sense."

"Like diamonds? Pretty sure they do make sense, babe; whether you understand them or not is a different story." George laughs at the indignation in Owen's garbled response.

"Alright then, Mr year 10 genius, explain them to me."

George smirks to himself. Owen doesn't need to know that he's only just finishing that unit in Chemistry himself. "Like network lattices? So each carbon atom is covalently bonded to four other carbon atoms which make them really hard and strong."

"Like me?" Owen cuts in. George just knows that he's winking to himself.

"What, bonded to four other carbon atoms?" George plays dumb, but Owen can tell he's only teasing.

"Hard and strong, G! I was arrogantly complimenting myself. Come on, I'm trying to make Chemistry sexy so I'll remember it, play fair." Owen sounds so adorably frustrated, George just wishes he was there to kiss it away.

"You think you're going to remember it if you turn it all into innuendos?" George asks, genuinely dumbfounded this time and teetering on the edge of flustered.

"No not really!" Owen sounds a touch exasperated, "I was just fishing for compliments from my boyfriend because I'm stressed and I want to feel loved. Is that too much to ask?"

"Okay," George says softly, dropping the tease. Owen has been pretty good at hiding his stress when they talk since the beginning of his exams, but George would far rather he be like this, rather he sought comfort from him than try to bottle everything up all the time. "I'm sure you know covalent lattices better than you think, Faz, and even if you don't, there's no guarantee that they'll come up anyway.

"It's not just that, though," Owen sounds so defeated that George feels a sting in his chest. It's so different from how he was just moments ago, from how he always manages to be when they talk. "I feel like I've been flunking a few of them. Like maths today wasn't great. And I don't know what it is that's making me do badly because I've been revising so much and we even cut down on talking so often."

"It sounds like you're burning yourself out too much. Believe it or not there is such a thing as working too hard," Owen makes a pained sound in his throat, "You're just stressing out, as you said. Things are probably going way better than you think they are."

"This is why I can't wait to see you," Owen breathes, "You make everything feel so much better."

"I try," George flushes under the praise, "But if you're worrying about this then maybe you should go back to revising for a little bit. Then go to sleep. I know for a fact you're working way too late into the night and not getting enough sleep."

Owen huffs and lets out a childish whine, "I wanna talk to you, though."

"Call me tomorrow if you get everything you need to do done," George insists, "I feel like I'm distracting you from the wonders of chemical bonds and I can barely live with myself for it."

Owen laughs lightly, "Weirdo." At least he sounds more relaxed.

"Last I checked you liked this weirdo quite a lot," George teases, picking up on the signals that Owen has had enough serious talk for one night.

"I do. I really do," Owen's voice descends to a slow, sultry tempo, and since when could he drop an octave like that? George squirms where he's lying on his bed, and yeah, if only Owen had that image.

"Covalent lattices," George reminds, keeping his tone as normal as possible. He couldn't sink to Owen's level, not tonight. "Then bed. You can call me tomorrow, or Thursday after your exam."

"Okay mum," Owen complains, but George is just thankful his voice isn't still dripping in that devilish tone. "I'll talk to you soon. Miss you."

"Miss you too. Talk soon."

"Bye, G."

It takes George a solid ten minutes to finally move from his bed, still reeling and blushing. If Owen can do this to him over the phone then God only knows how he's going to survive the weekend. Not if Owen's intentions are as Joe insinuated they would be earlier. George isn't sure how he'd ever be able to say no, how could he possibly deny Owen?


	2. Chapter 2

There are delays at George's stopover in Birmingham. It's his own fault really, not thinking enough to avoid buying a rush hour ticket and getting lumbered in with the commuters. As it is, the carriage is beginning to pack out significantly, people filling up the aisle next to him and forcing him even deeper into his seat, pressing his shoulder into that of the businessman next to him. The buzzing excitement George had been feeling at the prospect of seeing Owen again is starting to wear very thin with the increasingly stifling air. When his phone starts vibrating in his pocket, it's more a relieving distraction than anything else.

"Hi," George breathes, pressing the cool metal against his ear, arm squishing uncomfortably between himself and the person next to him.

"Hey you," Owen sounds as though he's smiling and George can't help but wordlessly return it, despite his discomfort. "Just thought I'd check up on where you're at. You doing okay?"

"Yeah I'm alright," It's not a total lie, he does feel a lot better now he's talking to Owen. "I'm stopped over in Birmingham at the moment -I think we're a bit delayed."

The phone line crackles a bit as the train finally starts to set off again and George knows their time left to talk is limited.

"I did think you'd be a bit closer than that by now, yeah," Owen admits then pauses before speaking again. "Do you wanna text me when you're close and I can head over to the station and pick you up?"

George practically scoffs at the suggestion, "Faz, I think I can remember how to get to my own house from the train station."

"Not your house anymore, babe. But as long as you're sure." Owen hums the reminder gently, knowing that, even now, George is still sensitive about the move. George ignores the correction. "Listen, mum's making dinner now, but I can keep some back for you. I kind of forgot to take delays into account when I told her what time I thought you'd be here."

"No it's okay, I brought some food with me just in case so I'll be fine." The line is starting to get really disturbed by now and George can tell by Owen's prolonged pause that it took him a moment to put together the pieces of what he'd said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," George repeats, "I can barely hear you anymore, tunnels and shit. Shall we just leave it for now?"

"I think that's a good idea, yeah," George is really straining to hear him now, "Text me when you get here anyway, yeah? And call me if you get lost."

"I won't get lost!" George cries, but the line cuts out before he can hear Owen's response and George is left to settle in for the journey, cramped up in an overcrowded train carriage, surrounded by the darkness of the tunnel.

Most of the rest of the journey passes George by in a blur of unexpected unconsciousness. He hadn't realised just how wiped out he was from the past term until he's waking up just a couple of stops before his own. By the time he's relieved the uncomfortable growls of his stomach with the minimal food he'd brought with him, he's grabbing his stuff and filing off the train and out of the station just as quickly.

As George sets off on the distantly familiar short walk, he pulls his phone out to ping a brief text to Owen. He decides against ringing again when he takes in his surroundings, ones he knew he'd missed, is only now realising quite how much, and decides to appreciate them fully.

There are butterflies bubbling in his stomach as he turns onto the all-too-familiar street on which his destination lies. George glances over at the home he'd spent too little time in, shudders at the strangers' car parked outside. He shakes the feeling away, though; that's not why he's here. He's here for what's opposite, for what he has to admit he's missed even more.

Owen's sat on the doorstep, looks up and grins, stands as George walks up the driveway. George can't help but beam back, picking up pace as Owen jogs towards him. God, George has missed his stupid face, his smile.

"Hi," Owen breathes in his ear as they meet to embrace. They both pull back for a second just to look at each other, smile even wider, before they're grabbing one another again, squeezing ever tighter. "Christ, I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too," George nuzzles his nose into Owen's collarbone, inhales the scent there.

They stay there, just taking each other in for a few long moments, rediscovering the feel of one another, countering their weight against the other's. The serenity only breaks when George suddenly shivers. It might be late May, but the evening is beginning to wear on and his thin jacket doesn't seem to be doing a good enough job any longer. Owen pulls away slightly, unravels George from his arms in order to wrap his palms over his biceps and rub in an attempt to bring him warmth. It feels so tender and George can't help but smile wider, rolls up onto his toes to lean up for the kiss, only he doesn't quite reach.

"Alright you two," it's Andy's voice that interrupts the almost moment. He's poked his head around from inside the front door and George goes with Owen's pull as he turns to face him, watches Owen roll his eyes at the entirely unconvincing stern look on his father's face which is completely given away by a warm smile. "Stop snogging on the doorstep and get inside."

"Wish we'd had the chance," Owen mutters under his breath to George who giggles in response, allows the wanton arm to wrap tight around his shoulders as he's led inside.

Coleen beams when she sees him, drags him out from under Owen's arm and into her own. George laughs lightly, as best he can with the air being squeezed out of him, and hugs back tightly.

"It's so nice to see you again, love," she sounds almost overwhelmed, something George is definitely starting to feel. "How've you been? How're your mum and dad? The boys?"

"Let the poor kid breathe," Andy cuts in, George slightly relieved at the rescue. Andy pulls him into a brief hug of his own, leaving his arm slung over George's shoulder until Owen complains.

"Can I have him back now, please?" He tugs on George's hand until George goes with him, Owen mimicking the hold Andy had just had on him and tilting down to leave a brush of his lips against his temple.

George blushes at the action and ducks his head, tucking it against where Owen's chest meets his collarbone. Owen smiles down at him warmly and George looks up to return the gesture before turning back to Owen's waiting parents.

"Uh, yeah, we're all well I think. Mum's good and dad's looking forward to the summer internationals." George mumbles through the answer quickly.  

"And your brothers?" Andy inquires, "Joe will be under 20s for England next season, won't he?"

"He's hoping so, yeah."

"Then you're gonna fill his spot on U18s, aren't you?" Owen uses the hand that's wrapped around George's bicep to shake his shoulders lightly.

"Or you are, more like." George slips his arm around Owen's waist, smiles up at him once again, encouragingly.

"We both are." Owen finalises. It's wishful thinking, but George knows it's what they're both hoping for.

"You'll both make it just fine, I'm sure." Colleen assures before swiftly moving the topic of conversation on, "Now George, the girls are staying at my mum's this weekend, so you're more than welcome to stay in your own room. I wasn't sure if your mum and dad had maybe said something about you and Owen having separate beds, or-"

"Mum," Owen interrupts with a whine. Even though Owen hasn't mentioned anything to him, George can tell from his sudden shift that this is something that has already cropped up some tension.

"My mum didn't say anything, so I'm assuming she's okay with it." George interjects innocently, rubbing his hand on Owen's hip in an attempt to relax him.

"See, it's fine." Owen huffs.

"I had to at least ask, Owen," Colleen warns with her tone, "He is only fifteen."

That only seems to make Owen tense further, his fingers biting a little tighter into George's upper arm. George wants to settle him, but he's also hyper aware of how Colleen is looking at Owen with an unimpressed frown. The last thing he wants to do is cause a problem on his first night.

"I can call my mum and check if you'd like?" George puts on his best parent-pleasing polite tone in the hopes that it'll win her over. In all honesty, George isn't so sure that his parents' lack of comment on the subject does mean they're totally okay with him and Owen sharing a bed; he'd sprung everything on them so quickly and it had never been brought up.

Thankfully, however, George seems to have done enough to appease Colleen's doubts. She sighs as she looks from Owen to George, a soft smile taking the place of the frown that had preceded it.

"No, no don't bother her now, love. It's okay, I trust you. It's just Owen I don't trust." It's said in a light, teasing tone, but George doesn't think she's joking so much as gently warning them of some unspoken rules. George wonders if she thinks quite as little of Owen's intentions with him as Joe seemed to when George spoke to him last week.

"Okay," Owen starts after an uncomfortable, albeit short, pause. Andy is pulling a slightly affronted face, George notices. Perhaps he disliked the implications of the previous remark as much as George did.  "Shall we take your stuff upstairs, then?"

Owen exaggerates the question by readjusting George's bag onto his own shoulder. George looks up at him again and nods just as Owen leans down to press another soft kiss to the side of his head. Andy's face seems to soften slightly, but George isn't sure whether it's just his peripheral vision playing tricks on him.

They shift positions so that Owen can pull George up the stairs by the hand while his parents retreat into the living room. As they walk, George begins to realise he wouldn't even need Owen's guiding hand to find his way, nothing has changed; even the childhood pictures on the walls are the same. Owen's room is exactly where it's always been -a 180 degree turn at the top of the staircase, the door at the very end of the landing.

Everything inside is the same as well, slightly messy, but clearly Owen has tried to clean it up a little from its usual state. The same small desk is by the window with a rugby ball perched on the corner; George can see his old bedroom window across the street, he shudders with a sudden pang of longing. There are CD cases strewn along the shelf above the desk, gym closes stacked up next to the chest of draws and spilling out of the kitbag by the wardrobe. In the middle of the room is the bed, a double bed now, an upgrade from when George last saw it -presumably to accommodate Owen's ever-growing physique. It's flanked by two bedside tables, one with a digital clock, the red numbers glowing in the evening-dimmed room, the other with a lamp and five half drunk glasses of water, a habit of Owen's that obviously hasn't changed.

George doesn't realise he's zoned out, too caught up in the reminiscence, until the sound of Owen dropping his bag to the floor snaps his attention back. He startles and looks up to seek Owen out, finds him sauntering in close, nudging George back up against the door until it clicks closed behind him. He's close enough for George to feel his breath on his face, smiling slyly downwards as he presses their chests firmly together. A hand reaches around and sneaks between George and the door, spreading out over his lower back, a couple of fingers sliding low enough to brush against his bum gently. The other moves to George's hip and pushes his top up slightly to stroke against the skin underneath.

"Hello you," Owen mutters quietly, still smirking, so close now that his lips are almost moving against George's own as he speaks.

"Hi," George returns, trying to quell the giddiness he can feel rising up from his voice. He complies physically, too, slotting both arms up underneath Owen's own until his forearms rest vertically up the breadth of his back and hugs him even closer.

The hand that had been resting on George's hip glides slowly up the course of his body until it stops to caress the side of his neck, thumb stroking back and forth over his jawbone.

It's George who leans up for the kiss first, but they time it well enough to meet in the middle, lips brushing gently before Owen makes a little flick of the tongue to have George let him in. They don't part for what feels like minutes, slowly rediscovering every corner of each other.

When they pull away, Owen smiles down at George once again, all sense of teasing gone this time. George grins back and folds himself into Owen's chest for the coming hug, allows himself to enjoy being held again after too long. They sway side-to-side for a second and George slides his hand up into Owen's hair, guiding his head down to his shoulder, trembles at the feel of Owen's warm breath as it nudges against his neck.

"Do you want to lie down?" Owen mumbles into George's shoulder.

"Yeah," George sighs, nodding slowly. Finally being able to relax and sink into the familiarity of Owen's home has allowed the fatigue of the day and the travelling and the nap to catch up with him.

They release each other somewhat reluctantly, but Owen is quick to take George by the hand again and pull him towards the bed. When he drops down onto the mattress, Owen tugs at the hand held in his own until George moves to stand between his legs. He lets go in order to wrap both arms firmly around George's waist and leans forward to kiss his abdomen, now at eye level.

"You gonna let me lie down, then?" George laughs lightly, cards his fingers through the long strands of Owen's hair.

"I suppose so," Owen hums, pushes his head up into George's soft touch and lets his eyes flutter closed for a beat before he shuffles back and falls onto his side against the pillows. George follows happily, clambering into the space that has been left for him. Owen smiles once George is settled. "Better?"

"Much." George confirms, closing his own eyes this time as he accepts the comfort of the sheets beneath him. He feels Owen's lips brush against his own and he smiles into the following kiss, allowing Owen all the leadership he wants as he responds with lethargic submission.

"I missed you," Owen repeats when he pulls back. He slips his hand back into George's and entwines their fingers, stroking slowly over his knuckles. "How are you?"

"I should be the one asking you that," George points out, eyes finally reopening. "Chemistry went okay?"

"Yeah," Owen squeezes his hand, "You were right, I think -I was just burning out. I went to training after my exam yesterday for the first time in a week and I think it really helped. My kicking was shit, though."

"Never thought I'd see you putting school over rugby," George teases with a small smirk. "It's good, I bet your mum is thrilled."

"Yeah, don't think dad is, though," Owen snorts, "He tries to pretend -I think to please mum -but he looked like he was going to jump for joy when I told him I was going training yesterday."

"Ah priorities," George sighs sarcastically, "My parents are the same with Joe. I think it makes his feel a bit conflicted sometimes."

"Tell me about it!" Owen laughs heartily, "You've got a lot of fun ahead of you, Georgie, I'm telling you."

"Ugh, don't remind me," George quirks his lips, but his stomach flutters with a sudden bout of nervousness at the reminder of what lies not too far ahead of him. It hadn't had too much of an effect on him, seeing Joe go through it, but being such an active part of Owen's life while he tries to cope and juggle is steadily starting to fill George with dread.

"You'll be okay," Owen reassures with firm emotion this time, dropping the banter with gracious timing as though he could read the thoughts whirling in George's head. He lets go of his hand in order to slip his arm around George's waist and pull him in closer. "It's not as bad as I make it sound, I promise."

George only hums at this, unconvinced, but he lets that discussion end there, choosing instead to go with Owen's pull for a tighter intimacy, tucks his head underneath the offered shoulder. Owen seems to get the hint, doesn't push the point further and George can feel his contented smile at the new position when his drops a firm kiss onto the crown of George's head.

"You are alright, too, though, yeah?" Owen checks after a moment's shared enjoyment at the rapport.

"Yeah, all good," George confirms without bothering to surface for the eye contact Owen is likely searching for. He's far too comfortable right where he is. "Better now."

They share a quiet chuckle at the sentiment. There have probably been a few too many clichés since George's arrival for either of them to retain their macho dignity -not that this very position wouldn't be enough to stamp that out all on its own. George can't say that he really cares, doubts Owen does either. He'd take this over the laddish persona he has to put on in changing rooms and on pitches any day.

It's quiet for long moments after that, neither of them speaking or moving, neither wanting to. The solace is only broken with George's ill-timed and rather intrusively loud yawn. He blushes at Owen's following laughter, burrows further into the chest he's already using as a hiding place.

"Tired?" Owen inquires, a hand coming up to stroke through George's slightly curling hair. George has to refrain from preening at the soft sensation, settling instead on a simple nod rather than attempting words. "We can go to bed now if you'd like."

Without knowing the exact time, George will have to settle on just guessing that it's probably too early to actually go to sleep yet. Although the offer is very tempting, George reckons he has a slightly more appealing idea.

"Kisses?" George says it with an innocent flash of eyes, resurfacing from where he'd been tucked into Owen to sell the suggestion.

The look Owen retaliates with is heated and heavy, desire fierce in his eyes -it's a pure lusting of _want_ that George feels, yeah, he can definitely relate to. It only lasts a second, though, gone quickly and replaced with a soft smile.

"You're so cute, Georgie," Owen huffs around a short laugh as he leans down to catch George's lips. George obliges the gesture happily, lets out his own little giggle into Owen's mouth where they're connected to further assert the cuteness his boyfriend is apparently so fond of.

Not much gets said after that, both choosing to catch each other up in ways that forgo words.

~~~~~          

George wakes to the sound of a door clicking closed loudly. The following quiet curse makes him smile, it broadening further when his sleep hazy mind fully registers the Mancunian tone laden in the word and remembers just where and who he’s waking up to. 

Eyes still closed, he turns towards the weight when there’s a dip in the mattress. An increasing aroma of strong coffee catches his attention just as a gentle touch swoops in to brush his fringe across his forehead and away from the eyes he’s just now managing to flutter open.

“Good morning, darling,” That’s a new one. They’ve tried out a few different endearments for each other, not many sticking around for common use. It is a bit tough over the phone, George supposes, for it not to sound forced or excessive. George pulls a face as he contemplates the new name, he can’t help but feel he likes it, although he doubts it will become any more than another occasional one. 

“Morning,” George returns eventually, finally pushing himself up into seated and accepting the mug Owen holds out for him to take. “I could get used to this.” 

It’s only a light half attempt at humour, but Owen’s saddened smile in response once again brings out the sharp pang of longing he had been hoping to avoid. George laughs around it at his own joke, Owen joining quietly with one of his own, but it doesn’t change the painful fact that, no, neither of them can get used to this.

“Thought you might want to spend the day chucking a ball around,” Owen offers, dragging them both away from their pining before it can get too intense. “Y’know, like we always used to,” he shrugs, “We can do something else if you’d rather, though, go into London or something -whatever’s fine really.”

“No, that sounds great,” George assures, noticing the way Owen has gone slightly stiff with the awkwardness of the suggestion. He sags visibly with relief at George’s answer and George supposes it should hardly be surprising after Owen’s confession that he’d only managed to get to training on Thursday. He’s probably gagging to get a ball in hand. “I basically only brought sports gear anyway, it would be stupid not to put it to its proper use.” 

Owen laughs heartily at that, “Why am I not surprised?” He leans down grinning, pushes George’s mug holding hand carefully downwards so that he can get to his lips. The kiss is languid and slow, deeper than the peck George had been expecting, but he isn’t complaining. They have a shared taste of morning breath and coffee and it’s a far cry from pleasant, but George can’t bring himself to be put off and if Owen’s impassioned ravishing is anything to go by, neither can he. 

After coffee and a brief cuddle, they dress quickly. George turns away with a flush when he strips down fully. He might have enjoyed eyeing up the bare contours of Owen’s body, but the hungry look Owen gives as George drops his joggers, the harsh bite of teeth into his lower lip, has George’s stomach bubbling with butterflies. 

They’re just about done with breakfast when Colleen wonders into the kitchen, grocery shopping bags in hand. She smiles and cheerfully greats them, laughing brightly at their grumbled replies. 

“Owen, can you give me a hand putting all this away please?” Colleen asks politely having made her way over to where they’re sat. She places a soft hand on George’s head and strokes it gently through his hair. It’s an action so similar to those George’s own mother would perform, one Colleen would have done whenever he used to pop round from over the road. It makes George feel warm, makes him feel at home. 

“I need to make us lunch to take out with us, though,” Owen argues grumpily. 

“And what exactly do you think you’re going to be able to make without this being put away first?” Colleen quips and George doesn’t need to look up at her to know that she’s sporting the exact same smirk Owen likes to wear whenever he’s teasing. He lets out a laugh at the incredulous look on Owen’s face and gets flashed a glare for his troubles, although there’s no heat behind it. 

It takes a moment’s grumbling for Owen to finally get up and start unpacking the shopping. George gathers their used plates and cups and obediently loads them into the dishwasher, keen to make himself useful. Really he longs to help further, but, although his memory seems to be serving him well, trying to recall just which cupboards things are kept in might be an ask too far. Instead he settles for grabbing things he sees as suitable and Owen approved for lunch as they get unpacked.

With that done they’ll be ready to go in no time and, despite George being able to keep up-to-date with his training routine, he thinks he’s just as itching as Owen to get a ball in his hands. 

“Ready to head out then?” Owen asks when he’s finished, eyeing the food George has prepared with an impressed quirk of the eyebrows. George nods happily in reply and Owen grins his approval, dashing off with a some line about grabbing a ball. 

“George?” Colleen questions carefully when Owen is out the room. He turns to her questioningly, not sure he likes the tone. “If you’re going out you might want to -uh-“

She pauses and gestures towards George’s neck. He raises a hand to his throat confused and -oh. George blushes when he feels the bruised tenderness of the love bites he hadn’t even noticed were there. Owen definitely got a bit carried away last night, then. His dad will probably have kittens when he sees these, ban Owen from the house or something equally ridiculous, and, oh God, he’ll never hear the end of this from his brothers. 

Colleen interrupts his mind’s wondering with her laughter and George watches as she pulls some makeup, what he guesses is foundation or concealer, as well as a brush from her handbag. “Come here, love,” she requests and immediately gets started on sweeping it across his neck as soon as George is within her reach.

It's then that Owen saunters back in, kitbag slung over one shoulder and a rugby ball in the opposite hand. He pauses for a moment, confused, before he bursts into loud cackles, face reddening -at the effort or his own embarrassment, George isn't sure. He doesn't miss the disapproving glare Colleen shoots her amused son, however, and it would be hard to miss the way Owen quiets down instantly at the sight of it.

Once George's neck is suitably covered and they're packed up with shoes on, it's only a short walk from the house to the park playing fields that were always their favoured spot. More than anything it's because of the goal posts they can use to further their endless competition.

They throw the ball back and forth between them as they walk, a little bit awkward with the bag weighing on Owen's shoulder and constantly having to give way to cars in the road, but it's nice, familiar.

Time seems to fall away from them after that. It's never been hard for either of them to lose themselves in something as simple as kicking tennis, or passing drills. George is impressed at just how well they've managed to maintain their intuition, gathering every one of Owen's no-look passes even including the precarious mock-offloads he throws.

When George chooses to turn and run with the ball instead of making the expected pass back to Owen, or even an up-and-under for him to chase, Owen runs with him, chases him down with expert pace. The tackle is harder than George had been braced for, the impact with the ground knocking the wind right out of his chest, when all he'd been anticipating was to be grabbed round the middle. Owen falling fully on top of him isn't too fun either, but the sound of his following laughter makes George happy enough not to complain properly. As if the feeling of their chests pressed so close together wasn't enough for that anyway.

"Sorry," Owen eventually manages through his gales of laughter. He lifts his weight up, rocks back to sit on his heels between George's legs, places a hand on his thigh for some mediocre comfort that's entirely unnecessary. The other hand entwines with one of George's own, the ball now gripped weakly under one arm, and helps in pulling him to sit up. "You okay?"

"You're not exactly light," George points out with an unimpressed look that does little to hide the giddy smile underneath, adrenaline still pumping. "I'm surprised you didn't bust one of my ribs."

Owen leans forward, grin broadening to border on teasing. George's breath hitches, feels in half a mind to pull back, aware of just how public a space they are and in a place where Owen is known, where he himself may well be remembered by the right person. But he doesn't, can't bring himself to, really. Their noses brush in a soft Eskimo kiss, it only last a beat, neither of them making any move to take things further -probably the right decision.

"Sorry Georgie," Owen hums, the nigh-on mocking smile on his face proving just how not sorry he actually is. He squeezes George hand in his own where they're still linked between their bodies. "Forgive me?"

 "I suppose so," George sighs in faux exasperation, "You're lucky I like you."

"I am indeed," Owen says, fond, lets it hang there for a while, long enough for a blush to creep up George's neck to his cheeks. "Come on," he finally continues, standing and aiding George to his feet, "I'm hungry, how 'bout you?"

"Famished," George confirms. They wonder back to grab the kitbag currently being used as their lunch box substitute. A few more kids, maybe a year or two younger than themselves are starting to gather on the pitch next to their own, kicking a football around between them. Owen lets go of his hand, but it's okay, George can understand why.

"Wanna head into the gardens?" Owen asks after grabbing the bag away from George when he'd tried to pick it up to carry himself. "Don't think I fancy getting a football to the head while I'm trying to eat."

"Sure," George shrugs. "Might make you spill your crisps."

"We wouldn't want that," Owen flashes him a shark like grin.

They find a spot under an oak tree in the gardens of the park, shaded from the high early afternoon sun, but more importantly private and shielded from any prying eyes.

"So," George starts, mouth half full of sandwich. Owen's eyes crinkle at the sides as he looks at him. "Feeling better now? Got your hands on a ball again, finally."

"I did train two days ago," Owen points out, "But yeah, it feels pretty good. It's nice to be doing it with you again."

"It's nice to be doing it here again," George mumbles, thoughtful.

"How are you finding it?" Owen cocks his head, clearly cottoning on to George's momentary lapse into nostalgia. "Being back when you don't actually live here anymore, I mean. It's your first time back since leaving, right?"

"Yeah," George sighs, "I dunno. It's nice, being with you and your parents and doing stuff like coming here and playing out. But- I guess I just kind of miss it. I'm trying not to look at the house, I don't like the thought that there's someone else living in my home."

"I didn't realise you liked it here so much," Owen confesses, looking a bit shocked at the depth of George's answer. "You didn't seem that bothered when you moved away."

"Just a brave face," George tries to smile, make it seem like a joke, but it comes out all wrong. He's not lying. Owen doesn't look like he quite knows how to respond to that, so George ploughs on, finds words to fill the space. "Would be pretty convenient for us if I did still live here, though. Guess that's the real shame."

"Should call your dad up and curse him out for stealing you away from me," Owen teases, reaching up to pinch one of George's cheeks.

"Don't think that'll do you any favours," George warns with a laugh, swatting the offending hand away. "Not if you want to come up and stay."

"Yeah?" Owen's teasing grin drops into something much softer, happier.

"Yeah," George smiles and shrugs, butterflies coming back to his stomach under the intensity of Owen's fond gaze. "That's if dad will let you. I doubt if these are gonna put you in his good books any time soon." George points to his neck where multiple love bites are covered underneath Colleen's handy work.

"Better keep them covered then," Owen winks, "I'm sure mum won't mind lending you some more makeup."

"Nothing wrong with a boy wearing makeup," George scolds, but it's not really defensive; he knows Owen didn't mean it like that. "Although I don't think Joe and Jacob will see it like that. I don't know what'll get me teased worst -the hickeys or the makeup."

"At least it's half term so your school mates won't see them," Owen reassures.

"Still got rugby, though, haven't I?" George rolls his eyes fondly. If anyone sees them at training he'll definitely receive more than a bit of ribbing. "The lads on the team are probably even worse than the ones at school for stuff like that."

"Wish you still went to St George's," Owen says. It started with the same level of upbeat insincerity as the rest of the conversation, but it seems to take him suddenly in a wistful sadness as he speaks again. "So I could look after you."

"Hey," George frowns, reaches a hand out to cover one of Owen's, "Let's stop talking about stuff like that, okay? We can't change the way things are now."

"I know, I just wish-"

"Well stop wishing," George interrupts, "It's only gonna get us both feeling down and it won't make any difference. I moved away, and yeah it's shit, _I wish_ I never did, but we just have to deal with it."

"Can I not _want_ you to just be with me more often?" Owen asks. George can tell he's becoming slightly agitated and it makes him nervous -this isn't the way he wanted this to go, just wanted them to stop getting hindered by things they can't change. He squeezes Owen's hand in his own.

"Of course you can, that's not what I'm saying," George insists, softer this time, "I want to be with you more, I want to still live here, I want this to not have to be long distance. I just don't want us to dwell on that whenever we do get the chance to see each other. Sorry, I probably should've phrased it better."

"Probably," Owen agrees, but he's smiling now, squeezing George's hand back. "You are right, though, sorry. No more dwelling on things we can't change."

"Speaking of not dwelling, shall we get back and do some place kicking?" George asks, noticing the devoured state of both their lunches. "I wanna see just how shit this terrible kicking of yours has gotten."

"Still good enough to beat yours," Owen quips, already packing everything up into the kitbag, pulling a kicking tee out while he's in there and snatching the ball up before George can get to it.

"Never has been before, though," George says in mock confusion, "How does that figure?"

It earns him a weak shove, but nothing more, and they settle into a comfortable silence as they head back to the playing fields.

~~~~~

"You alright?" They're on their way back from a late evening walk a few hours after dinner with Owen's parents and George couldn't be happier that they were drawing ever closer back to Owen's home. After such a warm day, the still ever-present sun had lulled him into a false sense of security, foregoing any kind of jumper, foolishly convinced that his thin t-shirt would be enough. Now, with the sun finally beginning to set, George can do little but shiver and eye Owen's hoodie enviously.

"Yeah, fine," George lies with a smile, gripping onto Owen's hand a little tighter in the hope that it will disperse a little more warmth. He supposes it was due to the later hour and empty streets, but Owen had refused to let go of him this time, George isn't complaining.

Owen frowns, unconvinced, pulling them to a halt and turning to face him head on. "You look freezing," he comments after studying George up and down for a second.

"I'm okay," George shrugs, but oh how he longs to fall forward just a step and into the heat of Owen's body.

"No you're not, come here," Owen insists, pulling his hoodie up over his head. George bites his lip at the small flash of abs he gets when Owen's t-shirt rides up just a touch with the action.

"You're gonna get cold now," George protests weakly when Owen holds it out to him expectantly.

"No I'm not," Owen insists, shaking the jumper at George demandingly as he waits for him to take it. Finally he crumbles, takes it and hastily pull it on, immediately grateful for the body heat of Owen's it's retained. "I'm bigger than you, I'll be fine."

"You really are," George remarks, looking down at just how swamped he looks. The jumper hangs all the way down to his upper thighs, the sleeves falling far enough to cover his entire hands. "Am I really _that_ small?"

"Nah, it's too big for me, too," Owen smiles, steps in closer, "You do look pretty cute, though."

George frowns, but lets Owen lean down to kiss him, goes with it easily, lifting an arm to wind round Owen's neck. It feels strange to kiss him out in the street, where anyone passing would be able to see; it sends a short thrill down his spine.

"Thanks for that," George says, snide and sarcastic, when they retreat. "'Cute' is exactly how I've always wanted to look."

"Just for me," Owen teases, looking far too pleased with himself. And, yeah, George can't help admitting that it does feel nice, being wrapped up in Owen's clothes, holding his hand, kissing him, being complimented by him. It's more domestic than he ever thought he'd be with anyone, than he ever thought he'd want to be.

"Come on," Owen interrupts, then winks. "There are a few things I'd rather be doing than standing out in the cold."

"Told you you'd get cold," George shoves him weakly, drops his head as a blush colours his cheeks at Owen's insinuation.

All Owen does in response is throw an arm round George's shoulders, draws him in tight and hurries them along in the direction of his house.

When they get back, he wastes no time in dragging George up the stairs, barely even throwing a greeting to his parents in the front room. He shoves him into his bedroom, clicks the door closed swiftly behind them before stalking forwards. George backs up slowly, stepping further away with every one of Owen's steps closer, teasing each other silently. He keeps going until his calves hit the edge of the bed, trapped with nowhere left to go as Owen finally reaches him.

George giggles violently as he's tackled to the mattress in one swift motion, Owen cushioning his own fall on his knees so as he's left straddling George's thighs. He jabs his fingers into George's sensitive sides, attacking him with a relentless onslaught of tickles as he appears to revel in the near shrieks of laughter that it earns him.

He leans down for a kiss, then two, then three, until George can't laugh anymore around the tongue sliding between his lips. His hands, that had previously been trying to wrestle Owen away from him, come up to slide around his neck, keeping him near.

Sitting back for a second, Owen quickly yanks off his own t-shirt. George eyes him desperately, sitting up himself underneath Owen's weight just to get closer to the warm, bare flesh, the harsh contours of the toned muscles that lie underneath.

"Good?" Owen checks, smirking happily as he notices the look on George's face, the way his hand is inching up towards his chest.

"Yeah," George breathes, flushing instantly at just how wrecked his voice already sounds. Owen just grins and stands, lets George shuffle up to the head of the bed, crawling back to him once he's settled up against the pillows.

They kiss again, harsh and deep, and George feels as though his lips might end up bruised if they're not careful, but he doesn't slow things down, just squeezes Owen's thighs in between his own to encourage him on further.

A hand grazes George's leg lightly, starting at his knee and sliding slowly upwards. It's new, different from the solid, unmoving grasps around his waist or back or bum that he's used to, but it feels good, tickling just slightly. He flinches ever so gently as it reaches his upper thigh, changing in directory in order to get a handful of the squishy flesh in between.

Owen seems to notice his slight twitch away, slows the kiss right down to a more relaxed pace, allows George to sink more comfortably in to it, to adjust to the unfamiliar move. He strokes his thumb where he's still got a firm grip on George's inner thigh, not moving his hand from its' place there for a few long minutes.

Once George relaxes that last little bit, once his legs go fully lax, once his arms fall heavily onto Owen's shoulders from where his fingers had been keeping a tight hold on his hair, the hand moves again. George is too comfortable to notice it at first, too caught up the feeling of just kissing Owen to realise as it ascends upwards again, coming to rest ever so lightly on the front of his shorts and caresses over his crotch.

The sensation is a weird one, maybe too weird for his liking, George isn't sure. He's felt pressure, touches from Owen in the same place before -hell, the first time they'd even kisses Owen had practically jammed his knee up against George's cock. But for some reason it feels different this time, deliberate, not just the graze of a well placed knee or George getting overzealous in his own ministrations whilst wrapped around Owen's hips. No, this is Owen have a purpose, an intent, a place to move things on to. It's too much.  

He really does flinch this time, pulling away from the kiss and giggling to cover as he shifts away from Owen's wondering hand. Owen leans back to smile down at George, but George can see the ounce of disappointment etched behind it. Or maybe he can't, maybe he's imagining it, maybe Owen's intentions weren't quite what he thought. He just doesn't know anymore, doesn't like the way it's making him feel offset.

The hand slides up to his hip, pushing the overlarge hoodie up enough to reveal the flesh there. It stays there for a short while as George keeps himself hidden in Owen's shoulder, before it starts to wind round further, wriggling between George and the mattress to get a hold of his arse. The kisses start again then, too, a few gentle pecks being littered down his jaw until George retracts from his hiding place far enough that Owen can get back to his lips.

They kiss chastely for a moment, George hoping it will make him feel better, more on track. But it doesn't. Even though they're back to doing what he's used to, what he's confident in, even though Owen's hands are back in a place that he's comfortable with, he feels like he's back at square one; a novice once again -just like at the begin of the Four Nations when Owen first taught him how to do any of this. He hates the feeling.

George starts pulling away from Owen's lips, trying his best not to flinch. He's not uncomfortable, they're not doing anything he's not okay with, but he want to stop and he's not even quite sure why.

"You okay?" Owen leans back to ask. He's obviously taken the hint, retreated right back out of George's space, but he looks so confused. George thinks he might be just as confused himself.

Nodding silently, he sits himself up, ducks his head to watch as he plays with the hem of the hoodie he's wearing so he doesn't have to look Owen in the eye.

"Sorry if I-"

"No it's fine," George cuts in before Owen can finish getting the words out. He doesn't want to hear Owen apologise for something he's not even sure if he's upset about. "You didn't- you don't have to-"

"Right," Owen finishes when George can't seem to find what he wants to say. "I think I'm gonna head off for a shower, unless you want one first?"

"You go ahead," George assures, still not looking up.

It takes Owen another few moments to move and George guesses he still needs a second to comprehend what just happened, still just as confused as George is. He leans back in towards George and places a fleeting kiss against his temple. The action is so soft and caring that George finally break, looks up at him, leans up for the kiss it's obvious they both want.

"Cuddles after?" George requests when they pull away.

"You bet," Owen confirms with a wicked grin, but there's still some semblance of dejection behind it.

When he's alone, George lets himself deflate entirely. He flops back against the headboard, letting it clatter into the wall, and brings his hand to scrub angrily over his face.

What the hell any of that was, George has no idea. Doesn't know what Owen was trying to do, doesn't know what he was thinking reacting in the way he did. Just the fact that Owen retracted the second George had shown any sign of being uncomfortable meant he never had any intention to make him feel that way.

Yet all George could here in his head were Joe's aspersions, Colleen's insinuations and the glare she'd given Owen just that morning. Had they been right the whole time?

Even if they had, George knows he doesn't want to care, wants to want to do whatever Owen wants to do, wants to be ready for it. But as much as he _wants_ he just doesn't feel like he can.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks on the dot -I'm surprised I managed to get that done!  
> Would love to hear what you all thought as well as how we're all feeling for the start of the Six Nations this weekend!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning, as is tagged, there is a relatively heavy discussion of sexual content in this chapter. It's nothing explicit and there's no actual sexual act, but George's character is only fifteen, so please read with caution if you feel this will effect or trigger you in any way. I tried to handle the topic as carefully, sensitively and realistically as I could.

George doesn't often get to enjoy a Sunday lie in, normally tied into some county or club match. Any possibility of sleeping in is especially rare now with England and the academy at Leicester. It's all he thought he wanted, until now.

He’s been awake for about half an hour, eyes still closed where his face is pressed into Owen’s bicep, when the body pressed up behind him starts shifting. George still doesn’t move, although Owen can probably feel the way his mouth twitches into a smile against the skin of his upper arm. The other one comes over the top of him to wrap around his chest as Owen crowds close against George’s back and uses the encompass of his embrace to draw him in. 

It’s funny to feel how different the physicality of Owen’s body is at a time like this in comparison to others, George thinks. The muscles of his pectorals are still firm, a sturdy structure that George can lean his weight back into and feel effortlessly supported. The abdominals just below, however, are relaxed after remaining unengaged throughout the night. Whether it’s from that or the fact Owen is lying on his side, George doesn’t know, but he adores the feel of the soft protruding pudge of a slight belly at Owen’s navel. Lower again, Owen’s hips are tucked forward against the small of George’s back. George shifts at the feel of him, slightly hard, brushing the cleft of his arse, but he need do little else as Owen swiftly moves his lower half backwards, realising as if on cue his morning situation. Their upper bodies remain tightly joined, however, a warm security that George feels he could easily let himself get lost in. 

Owen huffs into George’s ear suddenly and it sends tingles down his right-hand side. “Got a dead arm now, you lump,” Owen complains light-heartedly, tensing the bicep George has his head buried into for good measure. 

“Hmm,” George hums groggily, agitated that he’s been disturbed from their blissful serenity, “You’re the one who wanted to coddle me all night, ‘s not my fault.” 

“Can’t help it, you’re too cuddly,” Owen insists, leaning in to nuzzle his nose behind George’s ear as though he’s proving his point further and leaves a fleeting kiss there in his wake. 

For long moments they settle back into a peaceful silence. George allows himself to drift on the edge of sleep, comfortable enough to strongly consider allowing himself to drop off once again. The evenness of Owen’s breathing would be telling that he already has started dozing, but he keeps the thumb of the hand resting on George’s chest moving infrequently every time his slips back into a hazy consciousness. 

“We really should get up,” George murmurs eventually. He’s finally allowed himself to awaken fully and only feels slightly horrified at the sight of the time on Owen’s bedside clock.

“No,” Owen wines petulantly, tightening the grip he has around George, pressing his hips into George’s backside once again. George considers the feeling, guesses Owen must have willed his little problem away, maybe even just so they could plaster themselves closer together. “Wanna stay here all day.” 

“Yeah,” George lets himself sigh, relaxes again as his eyes flutter closed despite his recently achieved wakefulness. “Me too.”

George isn't sure how long they stay put this time, doesn't bother trying to count, refuses to look at the time; he just wants to enjoy their solace for as long as they have it. A knock on the door does interrupt this eventually, but George still refuses to move, determined to cling on to the last few moments. Owen seemingly takes a very similar approach, mumbling a gruff "What?" into the back of George's neck without shifting even an inch.

Neither see who pokes their head round the door, but Andy's voice soon notifies them. "Sorry to intrude," George thinks he can hear the fond in his expression, it makes him smile although he still doesn't move much, allows Owen to shuffle into an acceptable position to greet his dad instead. "I was thinking of heading out for a round this morning, didn't know if you boys fancied it?"

There's a brief pause for Owen to cough, clearing away his morning voice as George sits himself up. "What do you think?" Owen asks, turning to George. The question is genuine enough that George knows Owen wants him to be the one to decide, but there's a hint in his features that fail to hide his hopefulness.

"It'll just be nine, so it shouldn't take up too much of your day," Andy reassures when George takes a moment to reply. "And Owen has some stuff you can borrow. I think you've even got spare shoes, haven't you, mate?"

"Yeah I do," Owen says. He's fully pleading with his expression by now. "They're a size too small for me as well, so they should be good for you."

"Uh," George struggles under the pressure, fiddling with the duvet cover where it's a little loose at the top. It's not that he has a problem with golf, enjoys it even, might even say he's not too bad considering how infrequently he actually gets to play. The issue he's having is the new company. He's never minded his dad watching, welcomes it even, knows he's only going to help him with his judgements. Even with his brothers he doesn't mind it; they might take the piss when he hits a bad shot, but he always gives as good as he gets anyway. But Owen is the most competitive person he knows, and it's fairly easy to figure that he gets that from his dad. George gets anxious just playing rugby in front of new people, let alone a sport he's less confident in.

"You okay?" George startles when he feels Owen's hand cover his where it's now incessantly picking at the duvet. He flushes when he sees the expectant look Andy is giving him, quickly darts his own attention back to Owen.

"Just," George coughs when his voice comes out shaky. This is such a stupid thing to start panicking about. "I don't have my clubs or glove or anything."

"I'm pretty sure I still have my old glove. Might be a bit big on your baby hands, but better than nothing." Owen smirks and George can't help but smile back. "And we can share my clubs, I'll even carry for you."

"Aw, my personal caddy," George teases, relaxing a little. Owen clearly desperately wants this, he'll probably be flying too high from George just agreeing to go to waste any time scrutinising his play. "Won't they be too big for me though?"

"Nah, I use ladies clubs too, you'll be fine," Owen squeezes where their hands are joined, presumably a final attempt to win him over. It doesn't take much convincing.

"Yeah, I'd love to," George agrees softly, giving Andy a look as well just to ensure his reaction is received by all accounts.

"Brilliant," Andy grins, but nothing could match the beam on Owen's face right now. "Shall we say be ready to leave in about half an hour? That's if you can two can pull yourselves away from each other for long enough."

"I'm sure we'll manage," Owen deflects, playfully snide, and ushers his dad back out of the door with an insistent wave of the hand.

Once gone, Owen shuffles in closer, smile still playing on his lips. George ducks his head coyly, makes moves to edge away and get out of bed. When Owen pounces, George shrieks with laughter delightedly, allows his mouth to be thoroughly ravished by the oversized puppy pinning him down.

"We have to get ready," George complains when Owen starts moving further, trailing kisses down his still marred neck.

"I know, I know," Owen leaves a final peck in the dip of George's collarbone before retracting. He sits up and stands from the bed, pulling George with him by the hand.

"You ready to lose today, Georgie?" Owen teases as he heads to the wardrobe, pulling out an assortment of polo shirts, presumably for George to try for size. George doubts if Owen would actually let him wear any of the ones that are small enough to fit him properly, he seemed far to enamoured with the way yesterday's overlarge hoodie had looked on him.

George inwardly groans at the comment. This is exactly what he had been afraid of. It's okay when they're kicking, doing something George is at least somewhat confident in, he's competitive enough himself to even start the ribbing. Golf is a different story. As much as he knows he should probably tell Owen this, George guesses a little banter can't hurt, and he really doesn't want to put any sort of downer on Owen's good mood during their last full day together.

"If you're golf has gotten half as bad as your place kicking recently, you'll be lucky," George smirks, stripping his pyjama top in order to try the first shirt. He can't say he doesn't like the look on Owen's face as he does so, lusting half hidden by indignation at George's comment. "Might want to take your ego down a peg or two before you embarrass yourself, babe."

"Never," Owen insists with a pouty frown, just about managing to tear his eyes away from George in order to turn and get dressed himself.

~~~~~

Andy and Owen give George the honour at the first tee. It's a nice gesture, but he half wishes they wouldn't. They're lucky to have hit a quiet day on the course, which is surprising for a Sunday morning, but George is just thankful he doesn't have to tee-off with a group of waiting strangers gawking at him.

Thankfully his drive is decent. It hooks back round nicely to land relatively central, if a little to the right, on the fairway. He doesn't think he's broken 190 yards, which he knows he's capable of on a good day, but he'll blame that on the lack of power in Owen's super whippy, overly-forgiving driver. Must make a note to tease him about that later.

"Shot," Andy admires and George just nods in appreciation, heads back to Owen who pats the top of his head affectionately as a substitute for the hair ruffle his sun cap is preventing. Andy turns to his son expectantly, "Owen?"

The club is snatched out of George's hand as Owen sweeps past him, making his way up to the tee. There's a sort of cocky swagger to his stride that George wants to roll his eyes at, does just that when he remembers Owen is faced away. Andy's snigger draws his attention and George would blush at having been seen. The look on Andy's face suggests he's more or less had the same thought as George, though, so he grins back through the threatening flush.

When Owen swings, George can tell something is off. Owen rushes to the top of his backswing way too fast and absolutely hammers his way through the downswing, far too quick for him to be able to control accurately at the standard he is. The club head takes a divot out the ground, an absolute no-no when hitting a driver, and the ball duffers along the grass, dribbling about thirty yards and stopping in the ruff before the fairway even begins.

Owen turns back to George with a scowl, clearly not happy with the performance -who would be?

"That's what you get for trying to show off in front of your new boyfriend," Andy chides with a light laugh, clasping Owen on the shoulder as he stomps his way back towards George.

"Shut up," Owen says when he reaches him, fumbling angrily with the club-head cover and shoving the driver viciously back into its place in the bag. "I haven't done that in ages."

"I didn't say anything!" George exclaims as quietly as he can, warily respectful of where Andy is setting up.

"You were thinking," Owen hisses as he heaves the bag straps over both shoulders.

"Well I'll try not to do that in future, then," George pouts, but sneaks up into Owen's side, waiting patiently for him to relent and put an arm around his shoulder in a brief hug. He gets a kiss on the temple for his troubles, too, just as Andy has turned back to them after making his tee shot. He sends them a small knowing smile and they set off for the round.

Overall, it ends up being a good round for George; mostly pars and even a couple of birdies on the shorter par fives. He has a complete mare on the fifth, overzealous in trying to hit the green with his six iron on the approach instead of clubbing down and chipping on. The ball ends up in a bunker and it takes two more shots just to get out of it with Owen's all-wrong-for-him 54 degree wedge. That one hole aside, though, George is relatively impressed with himself.

The polar opposite is the round Owen has. Ironically, the fifth is just about the only hole that goes okay for him. It makes George snigger just to think that he'd been the one who was nervous about showing himself up while Owen had been the cocky one. How wrong they'd both gotten that one.

"Well played, George, I'm impressed," Andy praises when they're shaking hands on the green of the ninth after finishing up. "I wish I could bring you out more often -Owen's no Tiger Woods, as you've seen."

"Hey," Owen protests, pulling George away from his dad, "I'm normally way better than that, I just haven't been able to practice much recently."

"Eh whatever, you still lost," George looks up at Owen, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just like you did yesterday."

"That wasn't a competition," Owen grumbles, "But yes, I did lose. Congratulations, Georgie, my darling little pro golfer!" He grabs George in an overdramatic hug and peppers his cheek with wet, noisy kisses.

"Get off!" George struggles against Owen's strength strenuously, but he's laughing despite his blush.

"Alright you two," Andy is chuckling at them, but he's probably also aware of how many course etiquette rules their likely breaking and he ushers them apart. "Let's head off home."

~~~~~

It's about 3pm when Colleen finally cracks. George and Owen are tucked up on the living room sofa, some terrible Sunday daytime film provides a nice background noise as they chat on and off, switch their cuddling position frequently when the heat of the late spring makes it unbearable to stay sat in a certain way for too long. They've been like this since lunch, it's nice, comfortable.

The sounds of Owen's parents bickering in the kitchen begins to filter through and while it's easy enough to ignore and focus on the awful actors delivering even more dreadful dialogue in the film, George can help but tune in slightly. He focuses even more intently when he realises Owen is the subject they're disagreeing over, not the usual work/rugby stuff his own parents often fight about.

"You should leave the poor kid alone, love, he deserves a break especially while he's got George here." It's Andy saying it, quiet enough that Owen probably won't pick up on it unless he chooses to listen as closely as George is.

"He had a break Friday night and all of yesterday. Not to mention all the hours of training after his exam on Thursday." Colleen is protesting more avidly, not paying as much mind to keeping her voice down as Andy is.

"You have to let him train, Colleen. The game is his life whether you like it or not, it's what he lives and breathes; he's been miserable without it." Andy is getting a little more heated now, too, his tone of voice picking up to one his own dad often uses when defending Joe playing rugby during his exam periods.

"I know, that's why I didn't argue him going back on Thursday, and why I'm letting him have George down for the weekend," George startles at being brought into the fold so suddenly. He knew it probably wasn't a walk in the park for Owen getting Colleen to agree to let him stay with everything he has going on, but he hadn't quite considered that she might be even slightly resentful of it. "But he can't do no revision for nearly three whole days when he's still got all those exams left, he has to stay on top of things."

"It's half term, he has all week to stay on top of things. Just let them enjoy their last day together, they probably won't get to see each other again until the summer." Andy defends. It makes George shudder to think that they really will be apart for that long and so soon too. Six weeks is no lifetime, but it had been horrible enough since they came home from the Four Nations.

"Just a few hours?" Colleen requests, finally relinquishing just a little. "George can even do it with him, but I just don't want him to completely fall out of his routine."

There's a short pause before Andy replies, George imagines that, had he been close enough, he would have heard him sigh or groan. "Fine," he agrees, "But just a couple of hours, and we give them some proper space later, too, go out or something."

If either of them say anything else, their voices have dropped back down too low for George to make it out, but it only takes a minute or so for Colleen to appear at the open door and tap on it lightly.

"You two arguing about me?" It's less of a question, more a statement. Owen doesn't even look away from the TV as he says it, tightens his hold around George's waist for a moment to pull him in even closer to his side. George hadn't thought Owen had been listening, hadn't shown any signs that he'd been hearing his parents conversation.

"Can you get a little bit of revision done, please?" Colleen asks gently, ignoring the question, "Just for a-"

"A few hours, yeah," Owen finally averts his gaze to look at his mum. George studies him carefully, ready to give his input if needed. He chooses to stay quiet at sight of the unhappy look on Owen's face. "Do I really have to? Georgie's leaving first thing tomorrow and I promise I'll get my head down after that."

"George can do it with you, just some light revision, flashcards or something," Colleen pleads her case, but George is pretty sure he can still tell from her tone that no is not an option here. "Please?"

"But-"

"Owen." Colleen sounds purposefully stern this time, the kind of stern that means your arguing the subject has gone from futile to a means to get you in actual trouble.

Bravely, Owen firmly holds her gaze for a few moments longer, but eventually he crumbles. Exaggerating a sigh, Owen reaches for the remote and switches off the TV before tempestuously chucking it onto the coffee table and letting it clatter. Standing with practically a stomp of his feet against the wooden floor, he grabs George by the hand and heaves him up off the sofa without letting him support any of his own weight. George would be impressed by the show of strength if he didn't completely lose his bearings on the way up and stumble into Owen's side when he fails to find his balance. Owen just gives him a brusque look of what George guesses is apology before he's tugging them both up to his bedroom, brushing past Colleen in the doorway without so much as a second glance.

"Sorry about this," Owen eventually confesses when their hauled up on his bed surrounded by textbooks and revision cards.

"It's okay," George shrugs, he genuinely doesn't mind so long as he gets to be here too. "It'll be good practice for me for next year anyway."

"Yeah, or it'll make you dread it even more," Owen snorts, pausing to highlight a few words in the section of the physics textbook he's just skimmed over. Shoving the book away from himself, Owen gestures towards the flashcards George is currently fiddling with, "Can you test me on electromagnetism, please?"

Blinking for a moment, George fumbles through the cards to find the right section. "You know, you just saying big words like that is enough to make me dread all this."

"And yet you're an expert in covalent lattices," Owen remarks. George smirks, remembering their phone conversation from less than a week ago; he supposes he's not too bad off.

"I can't help it that I'm intelligent," George retaliates in a woeful attempt at an American accent, playing on the words of the Mean Girls quote. It's a very bad attempt at humour, but it makes Owen laugh anyway, smiling properly for the first time since his mum first insisted he revise, and that makes George happy enough to see. Nevertheless, they really ought to get this done, "Anyway."

George barely understands a word as he reads out flashcard after flashcard, not having reached this topic in his own physics lessons, but Owen seems to know it well enough. They reach the end of the topic with very few wrong answers and George leans forward to praise Owen with a brief kiss -positive reinforcement and all that.

"Thanks Georgie," Owen smiles at him small and fond when they pull away. Sighing as he leans back, Owen grabs a stack of papers and stares at them forlornly for a moment. "I should probably crack on with one of these past papers, but I'm sure mum will let me stop after that."

"Anything I can help with?" George asks. Honestly, he's not sure how much help he could actually be given how lost he'd been with the last topic.

"Nah, you're alright, babe. It shouldn't take me too long anyway."

Owen starts to get on with the paper then, so George takes to trying to keep himself entertained. He stretches out with his front against the mattress, head near one of Owen's knees where his legs are crossed, and takes a hold of the textbook Owen had been studying from. The section on electromagnetism is probably way beyond his ability at the level he's at currently, but he decides to give it a go anyway -no harm in trying to get ahead.

As it is, it takes him about fifteen minutes just to read over one page, constantly having to flick to the back to look up words in the glossary. By the time he's ready to move on, Owen seems to have gotten bored of his revision, distracting himself by leaving kisses on George's back. He ignores them at first, infrequent enough that they could just be deemed little rewards to himself for finishing a question, but it doesn't take long to get out of hand.

Fully abandoning the practice exam, Owen takes to trailing kisses from the base of George's skull all the way to the small of his back, leaning over the work in front of him to do so. He pushes this out the way so that he can shift his legs beneath him, rest on the side of his thigh to get better access to more of George. The full torso exploration eventually becomes more localised, focusing on just the back of the neck and George can't help but sigh blissfully, tips his head to the side to encourage him further. Owen uses this new angle as access to his lips, kissing him languidly, deepening with a slow ease of his tongue, his facility to read exactly what George wants and needs never waning.

George hums into the kiss, letting it lapse naturally into a small moan as he forces himself to pull back. Completely unfazed by George's retreat, Owen takes to kissing down his back once again, focusing on the taught tension of his shoulder blades. It's all George can do not to shudder.

"Stop getting distracted," George half tries to complain, but it's impossible to make himself sound serious with the way Owen is dotting on him. "You need to finish this."

"Stop looking so distracting then," Owen retorts, but he does pull back. "I'll do this at my desk so I don't get 'distracted' again."

Owen gathers the few things immediately next to him and deposits them on the desk, slumping into the office chair. He picks up his pen and moves to get started again and George goes to turn his attention back to the textbook before Owen speaks again, "You know you don't have to read that, you can put the telly on or something if you're bored. I think the remote is in one of the bedside draws."

Looking up to the TV on the wall, facing the bed at such a perfect angle, George can't help but feel tempted. The last thing he wants to do is distract Owen further with the noise, knows how important it is for him to revise properly, but the thought of having to read any more of that textbook is honestly making George feel a bit dizzy. Maybe if he keeps the volume right down it'll be okay.

George sits up, reaches over to the bedside table closest to the desk. The remote isn't in there, but he does find a worrying amount of, presumably dead, batteries. He stifles a laugh; typical of Owen to hoard something so random.

Unsuccessful, he moves to the draws on the other side of the bed, lights up when he finds the remote immediately. That is until something else catches his eye.

The box isn't big, less than fifteen centimetres long and relatively narrow from where George guesses it's been placed side up. It's a bright colour of blue, two shades in an ombre down the length of it. There are four different symbols, one that looks like a smiley face and the others George can't quite figure out.

Next to it is what looks similar to a deodorant can, only smaller, and it's made out of a dark grey plastic rather than a glass or metal tin.

Intrigued, George lifts the box out of the draw, turns it over in his hands.

A beating scarlet blush instantly springs to his cheeks as soon as he sees the front cover. The brand name is recognisable enough without the euphemistic descriptions underneath. George's heart thunders in his chest, but he remains silent as he studies the box carefully. There's still a plastic wrapper encasing it -unopened, then, unused. That means they weren't bought to be used with anyone else, no one in the past. George doesn't know if he should be relieved or terrified. Maybe both.

He doesn't think he needs to look at the tube to know what it is now, but he glances back at it anyway. It's rolled over a little in the draw without the structure of the box keeping it in place, revealing the same brand name as the one decorating the cardboard George is holding. He blanches at the phrase 'Perfect Glide' printed in bold white letters at the base of the cylinder.

The nervousness all this rouses in him makes George feel pathetic, childish even. All he wants to do is put the box away, shut the draw and forget it's even in there. But he can't. Not after what Joe said about Owen's intentions, about Owen being legal (something all this is really starting to remind George that he himself is _not_ ), not after what Colleen had implied with wanting them to have separate beds, not after last night.

"Uh, Owen," George hears his voice quiver, doesn't think he could cough it away even if he tried.

"Yeah -oh," Owen must recognise what George is holding as soon as he turns to face him. It's silent for a long, dragging moment, neither of them knowing how to broach this. It's Owen who eventually takes the first tentative steps, getting up out of the desk chair and making his way to join George on the bed, although not so subtly keeping his distance. "Georgie..."

"Why do you-" George fills in when it appears Owen doesn't know how to follow himself up, "Why do you have condoms?"

It sounds ridiculous even to his own ears. It's obvious why Owen has them, George _knows_ why Owen has them without needing to be told. There wasn't much else he could have said, though, didn't know any other way to go about it. George is a little shocked, if he's honest, hadn't realise that Owen had wanted to do quite _that_ much.

"I'm sorry," Owen finally supplies. It's no explanation, but George isn't so sure he likes that it's an apology, doesn't feel he needs one.

"You don't have to apologise," George quickly qualifies although he's still not looking up at Owen. "I just, I didn't -why?"

"I don't know," Owen says honestly. He reaches out a diffident hand to cover George's knee, sounds as though he's going to leave it at that, wait for George's response. George looks up at him in dissatisfaction, fixing him with a gaze that instructs him to keep going. Owen sighs, tries again, "Just in case?"

"Just in case?" George repeats, feeling it out. Not quite sure what Owen means by it, he looks to him again, silently telling him to continue. He's pretty sure he's coming across as pissed off, which he's not, really doesn't want Owen to think that he is, but he can't quite figure out how else to react.

Owen's beginning to look as flustered as George feels, "I just didn't know what you would want to do, whether you would want to do _that_ , or anything like it. So, yeah, I just thought, you know, just in case."

"Just in case," George says again. To be fair he can see the logic, but still. "That is what you wanna do, then, yeah? Uh, like, sex?"

"Uh," Owen coughs, blushes, fumbles over his words as he tries to find them.

God, they're such teenagers it hurts, so bad at communication, at talking about anything. It's no wonder it took them nearly a week worth of sucking face to even tell each other that they like boys, no wonder George almost lost all hope of them turning into anything in the first place because he assumed Owen had kissed someone but refused to ask him about it. They'd gotten better, the distance forcing them to, or at least George had thought; this feels worryingly like they're back at square one.

"Yeah, I think. I mean obviously, like, eventually yeah," Owen admits. George drops the box in front of him in favour of covering Owen's hand with his own, encouraging him on. "I only want to when you want to, and I'm kind of assuming you don't want to yet. Which is completely cool, by the way, I don't want this to make you feel pressured in any way. I literally just bought them in a sudden panic after training on Thursday, because I'd been presuming that we wouldn't do that yet, but then I knew I would want to if you did, so yeah. I'd kind of forgotten about them to be honest."

"Why didn't you just ask me about it?" George turns Owen's hand over on his knee so that he can wind their fingers together.

Owen shrugs, "It's kind of awkward, innit?" He admits, "I figured, probably stupidly, that it would just sort of happen if it was going to happen. Guess I've been watching too many romcoms."

"Probably," George lets out a light laugh, knowing Owen's weakness for sappy romance films. "But we're not twenty-five, Owen. I'm not even- like, I've never-"

"Yeah," Owen fills in the blank, saving George from actually having to say the words. He'd obviously known, it being pretty obvious from the fact George hadn't even kissed anyone before they had. Doesn't mean the unsaid confession isn't still a little embarrassing, and George knows it shows on his face from the soft smile Owen offers. "Me neither, by the way."

"Really?" It makes George smile more than it probably should, but he can't help it.

With a laugh, Owen gives him a light shove on the arm with his free hand. "Yes really! Why would you think I had?"

"I didn't! I know it never came up, but I had kind of assumed you would have told me if you had," Owen nods in confirmation and that's enough to give George the confidence to make the admission that's been playing on his mind all weekend. "I had been kind of freaking out that you might've just wanted me for _that,_ though."

"What?" Owen's face drops. He looks genuinely offended, maybe even a little angry, although he keeps his hand firmly held in George's as a small saving grace. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, I mean, I never did," George reassures, "Not to begin with, but then when I told Joe we were together he said some stuff about you being legal and like 'what did I think you'd want to do with me all weekend'. Then your mum wanted us to have separate beds and said she didn't trust you and it got me all worried."

"Oh Georgie, you should have said something," Owen chides.

"What, like you did?" George snaps back, but it's soft enough around the edges.

"Okay, okay, we've both made mistakes," Owen surrenders, "But seriously, don't listen to Joe. Straight rugby lads are the last people you should be taking relationship advise from. And mum was just being protective, to be honest I think she just didn't want to get in trouble with your parents if she let us do something we weren't supposed to. Seriously though, Georgie, I was never going to try it on or anything, I wouldn't do that. I'm sorry that you felt like I would've pressured you like that."

"You really don't have to be sorry," George says sincerely, although he's not sure Owen's being totally honest with himself, tells him as much. "But haven't you already sort of 'tried it on'? Like, weren't you making a move with the whole wondering hands thing when we were kissing last night?"

Owen drops his gaze, shakes his head, almost looking ashamed, "I knew I should've said something about that," George furrows his eyebrows, prompts Owen to carry on.

"I genuinely wasn't trying anything. I know that's sort of unbelievable with all," he gestures around, presumably meaning the forgotten box between them, " _this._ But I really wasn't. It just felt like things had progressed a bit last night, or something. I dunno, it felt like I should try something new, but seriously, I didn't mean for things to go any further than what I was doing, you know, just touching."

George opens his mouth to say something, but his vocal chords haven't caught up with him. He closes it again as Owen carries on.

"And I could tell I'd made you uncomfortable and I just knew I should've talked to you about it then and there and I spent the whole time in the shower thinking of what to say, but then I got back and you wanted to cuddle and it was so nice I just didn't want to ruin it-"

"Owen," George finally manages to interrupt, "Breathe."

"Sorry," Owen glances down sheepishly, knowing he'd been rambling. "Just- you know I'm shit at the whole words things, G."

"I think we both are," George admits with a sad smile, "Let's just agree that we'll keep trying to get better, yeah?"

"Good idea," Owen agrees.

There's a knock on the door then and, in typical mum fashion, Colleen pops her head round without giving Owen even a second to respond. George has to bite down hard on his lip to stop from laughing as he watches Owen scramble to grab the box and shove it back in the draw, leaning fully over George and slamming it closed with a pant. He turns to his mum with a look of flustered fury, but she's too busy chattering away to notice.

"You're father and I are going to go out for dinner, so you two feel free to use the living room," she stops momentarily to ponder at the flushed look on her sons face, but seems to write it off with a shrug before carrying on. "There are some pizzas in the freezer if you want those, but you can have whatever. Did you boys get any work done."

"Oh yeah loads," Owen says sweetly, turning to George with a mischievous grin. Oh no. "I was doing some physics, but Georgie here thought I'd be better off focusing on biology, didn't you, love?"

George blushes at the insinuation, glowering at Owen as subtly as he can with Colleen watching. Bastard.

"Well done, George, he definitely needs the practice with biology," Colleen praises, clearly blissfully unaware to the context.

"Yeah," George manages to stammer out, still glaring at Owen who just laughs happily. At least he's feeling brighter.

~~~~~

They do end up hauling up in the living room for the evening, making the most of the time they have alone. Owen chooses the film which is how George has ended up rolling his eyes most of the way through Bridget Jones's Diary. He distracts himself with their pizza for most of it, and it's nice to watch Owen enjoying it anyway, slumped against George's side as he giggles along.

"You're still such a sap," George comments, running the fingers of one hand through Owen's lengthening hair whilst the other pinches at his hip. Owen twists his neck to look at George from his place on his shoulder, frowning.

"Are you saying you don't like my sensitive side?" Owen tries to sound serious, but he can't quite hide the smile.

"Maybe," George grins down at him, leaning to leave a kiss on the top of his head.

"Fine," Owen exaggerates around a huff, "I'll try and be more like the other lads on U16s then."

"No," George whines. Pushing Owen until he's sitting upright, George slots himself underneath his arm and effectively reverses their positions in one move. He burrows his head until it's tucked deep against Owen's chest, relishes in the warmth, in the thud of his heartbeat. "Don't ever turn into one of them please."

Owen just laughs, the tremble in his chest vibrating pleasantly against George's cheek. "Actually," he starts, "Speaking of U16s, have you had any scouts poking round your Yorkshire games recently?"

"Not at Yorkshire, no," George says, "There have been some U18 and U20 ones at Leicester a couple of times, when were training at the academy. What about at Sarries?"

"I'm not sure, I don't ever look out for them, to be honest," Owen admits. "I probably should, but I just think, I have the chance to impress them at actual junior tryouts, so I'm not going to bother stressing about it all the time."

"Well I wish I could be as calm about it as you are," George laughs, but he can't hide the glimmer of actual worry behind it. From the way Owen tenses underneath him, George thinks he could sense it too, moves on before it gets brought up. "What about a firsts team debut, though? You said Sarries had mentioned it not so long ago."

"In passing, yeah," Owen tells him, "Don't think they mean it seriously just yet, though. I'm aiming for the beginning of next season, maybe once I've turned seventeen."

"I'm sure it won't be too long," George reassures, "They're not gonna want to keep all that talent out of the team for much longer."

"You'd think," Owen laughs. Shifting to sit up further, he manoeuvres George out of the safety of his hiding place, swivels them so they can face each other properly. "Anyway, mister," He starts, George rolls his eyes, "What are you worrying about? Don't think I didn't pick up on that."

"It's nothing," George dismisses, taking Owen's hands so he can fiddle with his fingers.

"Tell me," Owen insists and George sighs. Why does it have to be so hard to say no to him?

"Just-" George pauses, trying to think how best to phrase it. "Do you think they'll want me back on U16s next season? I'm just worried since Gareth won't be coach anymore and I don't know how much of an impact I made."

"George, are you kidding?" Owen looks taken aback, "I don't think you need to worry about that. In fact, if they don't want you back for U16s it'll be because they want you on U18s."

That makes him groan aloud, "You keep saying stuff like that! I really wish you wouldn't."

"Why? You don't want to play U18s?" Owen's brow furrows, confused.

"No of course I do!" George exclaims exasperated, "I really want to, so much, but I also don't want to get my hopes up because I seriously doubt it's going to happen."

"Hey," Owen pulls one of his hands free from George's ministrations so he can take a hold of him, pinches the flesh in between his waist and hip affectionately. "You shouldn't 'seriously doubt' anything, babe, because you're really good. I know you don't believe it half the time, but you are. You had me beat yesterday, not to mention you were first choice fly half for two out of three games in the four nations. Not many other people can say that."

"Thanks Owen," George smiles beatifically, but keeps it cast humbly downwards. He stifles a yawn into Owen's hand where it's still held in his own. It's fairly early still, but they have had a pretty emotionally intense afternoon as well as golf in the morning. "Can we go to bed now?"

"But -film," Owen protests, meekly gestures to the TV where it's still playing in the background. George frowns, stands and moves in front of Owen, blocking his view.

"Do you wanna watch the film or do you wanna-?" He leans forwards, close enough that he can brush his lips ever so slightly against Owen's own, pulls away quick to leave him chasing.

"I wanna," Owen breathes, shutting off the TV and standing so he can chase George up the stairs.

They take it slow this time, nothing like the intensity of the night before. George lets Owen's hands wonder a little with a promise that he'll say if there's anything he doesn't like. He doubts there will be, though. The light grazes, small touches, gentles caresses, always so perfectly timed, are near euphoric enough to make his toes curl.

He returns them now and then, timid inexperience keeping him from the confidence Owen exudes with his own, but they seem appreciated, enjoyed well enough to make him feel boosted just a touch.

Eventually it sinks back into their lazy familiarity and before long is nothing more than spooning with soft kisses being left of George's shoulder now and then. George is tired enough to feel satisfied, but a part of him can't wait to see Owen again just to try out these new found enjoyments more, as small of a step as they may be. An even smaller part of him, but a part nonetheless, can't wait to see what can come next.

"I can't believe you're leaving me tomorrow," Owen complains into the silence, voice muffling where his mouth is squished into George's shoulder blade.

"'m not leaving you," George laughs groggily, "Just going home. I'll probably call you as soon as I get there."

"Still leaving," Owen mumbles just to be contrary.

"Shh," It's George's turn to complain now, "Let's not think about that until tomorrow."

"Fine," Owen accepts, but not without sitting up. George almost whines at the loss of his presence behind him, turns onto his back to gaze up at him pleadingly. Owen shrugs, drops his voice back down to a shy murmur, "You be big spoon for a bit?"

George smiles, nods just to see the beam he gets in return. They shuffle for a while to get the positioning right, Owen laughing as George struggles to fit himself around his own larger frame. He ends up more draped over Owen than he does cuddled against his back. It's awkward, but it's nice. It's _them_.          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it, folks! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did while writing it.  
> I always adore reading what you thought, so I'd love it if you dropped me a comment.  
> Thank you all!

**Author's Note:**

> I finally managed to get it to you! I know it's been a long time coming, so thank you to everyone who's stuck around for it.  
> I think updates will more than likely be biweekly rather than weekly since there are meant to be less chapters which will probably continue be longer than they were in Linger and I'm still quite (although thankfully less) busy at work.  
> Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated!


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